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HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 
















Heirs of Yesterday 




BY 


/ 


EMMA WOLF 

h 

AUTHOR OF “OTHER THINGS BEING EQUAL,” “THE JOY OF LIFE,” 
“A PRODIGAL IN LOVE,” ETC. 



CHICAGO 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 
1900 




74253 


Library of Congress 

Two Copies Received 

NOV 12 1900 

Copyright entry 

f UrV, fit. HPO 

Noi 

SECOND COPY 

Delivored to 

ORDER DIVISION 

DEC 26 1900 




Copyright 

By A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

A. D. i goo 



For something larger had come into his life , a 
sense of a vaster universe without , and its spacious- 
ness and strangeness filled his soul with a nameless 
trouble and a vague unrest. He was no longer a 
child of the Ghetto . — Zangwill. 















FOREWORD 


The tide of social culture sweeps literally 
upward with the grade in San Francisco, dropping 
inadequacies on the way. The tide of Jewish social 
culture runs its mimic parallel alongside of it, 
mounting hill for hill, matching inadequacy with 
inadequacy. Yet science proves that, this side 
infinity, parallels never meet. 

And thereby hangs the comedy. 

"If it takes six generations from the hod, or 
pick and shovel, to make a gentleman of an ordi- 
nary American,” asked the wag, “ how many gen- 
erations from the Ghetto does it take to make a 
gentleman of a Jew? ” 

“Bah!” said Philip May, contemptuously, 
“what have I to do with Ghettoes!” 

And thereby also hangs the comedy, or — what 
you will — according to your light. 



CHAPTER I 


At sunset of a certain exquisite day toward the 
close of February, a young girl might have been 
seen making her way westward along Pacific 
avenue. She walked swiftly, lightly, the joyous 
wind of motion in her going. The waning after- 
noon was warm, and she had slipped off her jacket, 
carrying it under her arm, her slender shirt-waisted 
figure seeming to enjoy the freedom. The breath 
of violets was in the air, a marvelous sky of tender 
rose-shot gold before her — the spirit of the beauty 
of the hour had passed into her face. 

In the serene light the houses rose, now stately, 
now picturesque, among velvety lawns and palms 
and rose-trees, here and there a red-stone mansion 
showing vivid and princely among the gen- 
eral scheme of perishable wooden architecture. 
Glimpses of the lovely island-dotted, hill-encircled 
bay smiled up to her as she passed the corners along 
the heights. She was in the midst of the fairest 
residence environs of the town. 

Turning southward, she came abruptly upon 
two unpretentious little houses standing snugly 
together near the corner. 


10 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


She ran up the steps of the nearer and rang the 
bell, scarcely conscious that she was happily hum- 
ming a song while she waited. 

The door was opened by a buxom, clean-aproned 
Irishwoman. 

“ Well, Katie,” asked the girl, entering quickly, 
“how is everything getting along? Has any one 
been near the table since I left?” She did not 
pause; she moved as she spoke toward the dining- 
room. 

“ There it is, Miss Jean, beautiful as a picter, 
same as you left it. What would the likes of my 
clumsy hands have to do wid anything you touches? 
And there’s nobody else.” 

“ And the kitchen, Katie? ” 

“ Come and take a smell.” 

She tripped after her into the shining room 
steaming with importance and good savors. 

“It smells like — like your kitchen, and that 
means it makes me hungry,” the girl assured her, 
critically approving. 

“ Ah, go long wid the blarney eyes and tongue 
of you,” laughed the privileged old cook and house- 
keeper, in pleased excitement. “ Who wouldn’t 
have the best dinner in the land when her boy as 
was her baby is coming home to-night after ten 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


11 


long, lonesome years widout a sight of him. Laws, 
Miss Jean! when Mr. Mays stood and looked at 
that table two hours ago, his hands just trembled 
wid joy, even if his face did look like it did the day 
poor young Madame Mays died, and he sat and 
shivered for her.” 

“ Sat and what, Katie? ” 

“Shivered. That’s what all them old Jews does 
when some one dies as is dear to ’em. Leastways 
that’s what your own poor mother says to me when 
I see him sitting on a footstool and wanted to give 
the poor dear man a comfortable chair wid a back. 
‘ Let him alone, Katie,’ says she. ‘ He has to sit 
low and shiver,’ says she. ‘It’s the Jewish cus- 
tom.’ ” 

The girl’s laugh rang out unrestrainedly. 

“For shame, Miss Jean, to laugh over a poor 
young thing’s death; and she just a mother,” 
reproved the old woman, in shocked solemnity. 

The laugh died lingeringly on J ean’s lips. “ I 
was not laughing at what you said, Katie,” she 
explained, with a vanishing ripple of mirth; “it 
was the way you said it. Probably my mother said 
he was sitting Shivah for her, which is — ” 

“ It’s hay then English, then. Well, Miss Jean, 
all I hope is that Phily’ll like his dinner.” 


12 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ Dr. May now, Katie. Remember he’s a grown 
man past thirty, and a physician besides. Of 
course he’ll like his old Katie’s dinner. Did you 
say Mr. May is at home? ” 

“ Home and dressed these two hours. He’s in 
the sitting-room waiting.” 

The girl slipped out, tiptoed softly through the 
hall, knocked gently, and then immediately opened 
the door in furtive, mischievous noiselessness. 

Joseph May stood before the glass, absorbed in 
his own reflection. His deep-set eyes looked out 
from the brown, furrowed face set in its framework 
of grizzled hair and beard, taking stock of the over- 
hanging brow, the long, thick nose, the straight, 
close-set lips — the upper one shaven; his eyes meas- 
ured the thick-set, stooping figure, slightly below 
medium height. An eager anxiety dominated the 
whole attitude and aspect of the man. 

“ Oh, vanity of vanities,” murmured the girl, 
her hand still upon the door-knob. “ Vanity of 
vanities, Uncle Joseph! ” She shook her head in 
tender mockery at him as he veered around. 

He laughed sheepishly up into the dancing light 
of her dark gray eyes. “ Well, Jean,” he returned, 
with a helpless shrug, his palms turned upward and 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


13 


outward, “ what can a man do when he is such a 
dood like me?” 

“ Dude! I should think you are a dude. Come 
here and turn around, sir, and let me admire you.” 

He revolved in slow, solemn delight under her 
hand placed lightly upon his shoulder. 

“ Who ever heard of a man’s making such a 
beauty of himself just for another man,” she 
observed, severely. “And a man of your years, 
too!” 

“Then you think I will do, Jean?” he asked, 
in serious anxiety. “You think he won’t be 
ashamed from his old father? ” The man, 
although an American citizen of more than forty 
years standing, spoke with a marked foreign 
accent, composite of Jewish and German. 

“ I wouldn’t give a penny for his taste if he 
were,” she returned, with a loyal uplift of her head, 
“ even if you do think he’s the Grand Mogul in 
person.” 

“ CJiutspah ponim!” murmured Joseph, lov- 
ingly. “ Chutspah ponim — as if you don’t know 
he is yourself! ” 

The girl’s alert senses — more alert than usual 
this evening — winced secretly under the familiar 
jargon. 


14 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ Old man/’ she said, gently, argumentatively, 
“ do you happen to have a picture of a certain 
illustrious young surgeon about you? If you do, 
we might settle that point at once and for always.” 

He clapped his hand to his breast-pocket, a look 
of comical surprise crossing his face as he felt its 
emptiness. 

“ So you’ve forgotten it at last,” she laughed. 
“ How your friends will miss it! There, don’t mind 
my teasing, TJncle Joseph — you will have the 
original with you in just about an hour or two, 
and can pilot the man himself around to your old 
cronies. How sit down in that easy-chair so as not 
to disarrange your beauteous attire before the 
grand moment arrives. And remember, dear, you 
are not to get excited. You know Dr. Thall- 
man — •” 

“ Yes, yes, I know, Jean — I got my son to live 
for now. See how quiet I am.” He held up a 
trembling hand. 

She stooped impulsively, pressing her lips to his 
bald forehead. 

“ I’m going home now,” she said, moving toward 
the door. ee Greet the prodigal for me — without 
words.” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


15 


“ To-morrow night you and Daniel,” he called 
huskily after her. 

“ Uncle Daniel, surely,” she replied, turning 
hack. “ And, Uncle Joseph! ” 

“ Yes, dear child? ” 

“ Please don’t take two plates of soup! ” 

He chuckled softly after her entreating voice 
and retreating figure. 

Shadows gathered in the quiet room. The old 
man sat motionless in his great chair 

“ I tell you, boys, she’s a bonanza for one of you. 
A little princess, junge, mit hair what comes most 
to the floor down! ” 

Out of what dim corner of his brain had the 
words sprung? — words scarcely noticed when 
spoken almost forty years before. Was it the sug- 
gestion of Jean Willard’s creamy girl-face with its 
shadowy eyes and her mass of shadowy dark hair? 
Was it the spirit-presence of one whose memory 
never left him in such silent moments as this? 
Was it the strange joy of calling her son — scarce 
known, grown to a man — his son? Was it — . He 
lost the links of thought. 

He was back again in the office behind Simon 


16 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


Alexander’s store, one of “the boys” crowded 
round the glowing stove, and Simon Alexander 
himself was making the announcement which 
caused them all to start with openly expressed 
interest over the pleasing thought that another fair 
young girl was coming into their rough lives. 

That was the night young Goldschmitt, without 
an English word in his vocabulary or a cent in his 
pocket, had come staggering in, his pack on his 
hack, and demanded explanation of the cruel treat- 
ment he had received from the women he had 
approached with his wares. Whereupon they 
discovered that a certain wit, one Samuel Weiss by 
name, had written for the ignorant emigrant a list 
of questions to be asked, each one prefaced with 
a dainty oath, such as, “ Dam you, lady, here’s a 
dimity that will make your eyes water! ” 

Young Goldschmitt wept tears of boyish grief 
over the unfolding, the others swore mysterious 
vengeance on the witless wit, and while Daniel 
Willard, the scribe, sat quietly down and wrote 
up an elegant text for the sale of his textures — 
“just like a book — just like a book,” they all 
agreed — Charlie Stein trolled out : 

“ With a stone for a pillow and a sky for a sheet, 

Oh, a peddler’s life, my dear ones, is a hard one to beat.” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


17 


To the truth of which sentiment several of those 
present could offer personal testimony. 

But they were all chafing to get up and away 
to the home old Arnheim had prepared for his 
wife and daughter just arrived on the steamer 
from New Orleans, and when Simon, who gave 
all “ the hoys ” wide credit — which bore wider 
interest — had made a bed for poor Goldschmitt on 
the counter — for they were no sybarites in those 
days — they started in a body out into the raw night 
air. 

He remembered their passing the historic gam- 
bling palace at the corner of Washington and Kear- 
ney streets, ablaze with lights, radiant with luxury 
and vice, glorious, sensuous music floating out 
above the noise of jingling gold, above the tragic 
shot of a pistol, above the monotonous cry of the 
croupier — a Frenchwoman this night — chanting 
persuasively, “ Make-a your bets, gentlemans — 
gentlemans, make-a your bets.” Some one was for 
stopping, but Daniel said, sternly, “ Boys, that is 
hell.” Yet a moment later, when they reached 
Arnheim’s house, the young Frenchman lifted his 
hat, and said, half quizzically, half reverentially, 
u But now, boys, we go to heaven.” 

So they went to heaven through a pair of brown 


18 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


eyes, and many there were who gazed through 
thereat. And the way was long and sweet to 
Joseph May. 

He remembered the night before the Eureka 
ball, when, after a long, silent walk under the 
stars with Daniel, his beloved friend, he had said, 
suddenly, “ Daniel, when you have no objection, 
to-morrow night at the ball, I will ask Jeannette 
Arnheim to marry me.” Such was Joseph’s way, 
short and direct. And Daniel, after a moment, 
had said, tenderly, “ if it is for your happiness, 
Joseph, and for hers, what objections can I, a poor 
occasional journalist, have to offer?” 

And the next night — at that ball, whither she 
had gone with him in her simple, unadorned white 
silk gown cut low in the neck, a string of pearl 
beads around her lovely throat, her hands in small 
white silk gloves drawn tight with a dangling tas- 
sel — at that memorable Eureka ball, with all the 
boys fighting for a dance with her, he, Joseph 
May, the quietest of them all, had asked her for 
her hand — and won it. 

And behold there was light divine for the quiet 
man on that long-ag. wedding day, when all the 
boys had kissed the bride — except Daniel Willard, 
who had only kissed her hand — and they had gone 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


19 


away to live happily together forever after. For- 
ever after — 

She brought success with her — everything he 
touched prospered. But five years passed before 
the promise of the long-awaited little one came to 
them, bringing with his glory — 

Nay, why this mist of tears? Their plans? 
Had he not executed them — without her? Had 
not the long empty years — 

“ My dear father,” broke in Philip May’s virile 
voice, “ I am glad to be with you again.” 

The next minute the room was flooded with 
light, while, through mist-blinded eyes, the little 
old Jew felt his hand caught in a powerful grip, and 
looked up at his son’s broad-shouldered manhood. 


CHAPTER II 


As he followed his father into the dining-room, 
the wheel of time seemed to Philip May to leap 
back to the starting-point of memory. The past 
fifteen years, which had plunged him far beyond 
on the sea of life and thought, slipped from him 
and left him stranded on a shore which alone, in 
all the moving flux of things, seemed to have stood 
still. How much of this sensation was due to out- 
ward fact — the old-fashioned familiar furniture, 
the ancient Sabbath lamp — an heirloom — burning 
this Friday night with accustomed holy brilliancy, 
the square-set old man himself, whose hoar- 
touched hair and beard but faintly suggested the 
silent passage of the years — he did not consider. 
He felt a sudden mental stooping, a bending to the 
cavern of a childhood which had been covered over, 
almost forgotten in the background of his experi- 
ence. 

From the farther doorway, Katie, the faithful 
housemaid, his quondam nurse, radiant, rosy, and 
rejoicing, courtesied to them as they entered. 


20 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


1 


His scrutinizing eyes fell instantly upon her, 
and with a flash of recognition of a different nature, 
he went toward her with hands outstretched. 

“ Well, Katie,” he said, “ do you recognize the 
old plague of your life?” 

Covered with confusion over the mastery of his 
voice and personality, she laid a rough, trembling 
hand in his, all the contemplated welcome of 
ecstatic words and embracing arms shrinking 
shamefacedly out of the back-door. 

“ Thankee, Mr. Philip,” she stammered. “ I’m 
very well, thankee. You’ve growed some, sir, but 
I’d ’a’ knowed you was Phily anywhere.” 

His laugh rang out heartily as he pressed her 
hand between both his. The lingering laugh 
startled the old woman — it was as an echo of some- 
thing loved and lost. When she returned to her 
kitchen two unaccountable tears rolled down her 
cheeks. 

“ Shall I take my old place? ” he asked, stand- 
ing at the foot of the table. 

“ For sure, Philip, for sure,” said J oseph, vainly 
endeavoring to keep the army of overpowering emo- 
tions from his voice and limbs. In the church of 
the old man’s soul there was an intoning of prayer 
and thanksgiving, the while he ladled soup — the 


22 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


while the dominant face opposite was engraving 
itself upon his intoxicated senses. It was a strong, 
intent face rather than a handsome one — a face 
with little room in it for frivolity, its very reticence 
proclaiming that strength, or narrowness, of pur- 
pose which bespeaks “ business ahead.” True, the 
brow, broad and thoughtful, beneath the wave of 
thick dark hair, might have belonged to an artist, 
a dreamer, but whatever the temperament of hered- 
ity it bespoke, the suggestion was overpowered by 
the doggedness of will of the individual as evi- 
denced in the cool, discriminating hazel eyes and 
assertive mouth and jaw. 

“ It’s hard to realize that so many years have 
passed since we dined together,” the younger man 
observed, picking up his napkin, grimly amused 
over a mellowing representation of Moses with the 
Decalogue benignly regarding him from the op- 
posite wall. “I don’t know whether it is a trick 
of the gods,” he continued, lightly, “ or of Katie’s 
unrivaled soup, but I’m inclined to think I have 
never been away.” 

“ I can tell you how long. You were away — 
leaving out vacations — just fifteen years, three 
months, twenty-three days and one-half.” 

The ghost of a frown gathered into the doctor’s 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


23 


quiet regard. “ Perhaps,” he began, in the tran- 
quil, sonorous voice which most of all seemed to 
measure an insurmountable distance between 
them, “ perhaps I staid too long. My duty, I 
know — ” 

“ Ho, no,” interrupted the father, eagerly, apolo- 
getically. “ It was just like it should he. When 
you asked, didn’t I say yes? Didn’t I tell you I 
want you shall know everything money can buy 
when it will make you a better doctor — and a more 
happier? And besides, there was your friend — 
your poor sick friend.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And you could not leave him. So I told to 
all who said, ‘ But why he don’t come home to his 
father — maybe he, too, needs him.’ Didn’t I al- 
ways say to Daniel and J ean, ‘ Is it not fine a man 
shall stay by his friend so long he wants him?’ ” 

Philip protested swiftly with his hand. “ Who 
is Jean?” he asked, abruptly. 

“Jean? Oh, you don’t know who is Jean,” 
laughed the old man, delightedly, as though upon 
familiar ground. “ Well, you will know her 
soon — to-morrow night. You see, I said to Daniel, 
‘You and Jean and Philip and me will have a 
nice little dinner together, and while we have a 


24 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


little game, the children can make a little music 
and get acquainted/ And Jean says, ‘ But, Uncle 
Joseph ’ — she calls me Uncle Joseph for short, be- 
cause I too am short — ‘ who do you think this Dr. 
Philip May is that Jean Willard should come to 
call on him?’ And then she goes on, ‘ Now don’t 
tell me he is a prince — all the young Jews are 
princes to the old ones — tell me what he is, if you 
can/ But she don’t mean one word — she’s just a 
little lachachlis ponim — you know what that means? 
No? It means mischief-faced one — one who says 
things just out of spite. Oh, by’m-Bye you’ll learn 
Yiddish all over again when you stay long with me. 
But you don’t know who is Jean — . Wait. Will 
you take some more of Katie’s good soup? ” 

“ It is good,” Philip acquiesced, cordially. 
“ But I always limit myself to one plate.” 

“ Just like Jean. She always makes fun of me. 
Why? Is it more healthy? But when I learn you 
to speak Yiddish you will learn me what I must not 
eat. Of course Dr. Thallman is a fine doctor, but 
now when I have a doctor in the family, he don’t 
expect I will stay by him, I guess. Well, I will ring 
so Katie takes the plates out. You must not laugh 
when I make mistakes — I have seldom company 
for dinner— only Daniel and Jean sometimes, and 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


25 


then Jean does it all, and all me and Daniel has 
to do is to eat. But Jean knows better how it 
shall be done. To-night she wanted to order 
oysters and frogs and — ich weiss viel; but I said to 
her, ‘ No, Jean, better we have a good old-time 
dinner so Philip feels more to home : a good noodle 
soup — ’ ” here he began to intone like a cantor — 
“ fish a la Yitt , like Daniel calls it, some nice green 
peas and fried potatoes, a fine young roast duck, and 
salad — and for dessert, well, I compromised with 
her on a frozen something — but with coffee and 
cigars, I guess you’ll pull through, hey, Philip? ” 

It was a long speech for Joseph May to make, 
but the excitement and happiness of this long- 
anticipated, intimate moment had loosened the 
reserve of half a lifetime. 

“ It could not suit me better,” returned Philip, 
the edge of his fine teeth showing in a suspicion of 
a smile, as he gave his attention to the fish. “ But 
who is this oracle of your manners and menus? 
Who is Jean? ” 

“ I will tell you,” said Joseph seriously, holding 
up his fork in one hand and a bit of bread in the 
other. “ Help yourself to wine, Philip — Thallman 
says I mustn’t — I can guarantee you can get no 
better Sautexne nowhere — I paid a big price the 


26 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


case for it, years ago. Good? I knew you would 
like it. Well, what I was telling you? Oh, yes, 
about Jean. Jean is the chile of Daniel’s brother 
David, who lived in Los Angeles. Well, his wife 
died long before him, and when David died — now 
about ten years ago — there was no one to look after 
the little girl, who was about fourteen years, except 
an old aunt in Hew York. So Daniel comes to 
me — he always asks me what he shall do when it is 
business, just like I always ask him when it ain’t 
business — and he says, ‘ Joseph, you think I am 
good enough to take care of that young girl?’ And 
I said, ‘And when she was a young angel, and 
when she was a young devil, there is no one who 
can better take care of her as you.’ So Daniel went 
down and brought her up, and when once you see 
her, Philip — . Well, I won’t say no more about 
it now. You know I bought these two houses for 
an investment, account the view and location, but 
when Daniel brought the chile to the city he wanted 
to keep house, so I thought why not rent one to 
Daniel and keep one for myself, for when Philip 
comes home? And so you have it. And about 
Jean, there is not much to say. Only she looks 
after her two old men — like she calls us — and she 
says she has her hands full. All I know is she 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


27 


leads Daniel and me round by the nose and, 
schtiegen! I’ll tell you something — we make 
believe we don’t know it — because we like it! ” 

As he glowed and expanded, enumerating all his 
homely loves under the pleasantly interested gaze 
of his son, it seemed to Joseph May — to his own 
surprise — that, despite the strong grief of his 
youth, life still held in reserve for him a bright 
spot into which he was now entering. And so, 
while they ate the savory dishes and drank the 
golden wine, he drew nearer the knowledge of his 
son, telling, with his unconquerable J ewish rhythm 
and accent, in quaint choice of English, now quite 
correct, now ridiculously faulty, occasionally mixed 
with the Yiddish jargon — the story of his simple 
life : the few hours passed in the downtown office, 
his fingers ever on the realty and stock market, 
with Daniel for his amanuensis; the sunny after- 
noons when he and Daniel would take the car and 
ride to the Park, where, sitting among the trees 
and flowers, they reviewed past and present through 
the medium of a good cigar; of the rainy or foggy 
evenings when Daniel or he would step across the 
connecting porch at the back and pass an hour or 
two together over a little game of picquet. 

“ And sometimes we go to the the-ay-ter,” he 


28 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


concluded, with an air of reminiscent joy. “ Gen- 
erally Jean gets the tickets for us, because she 
knows the good places and what Daniel and me 
will like. Daniel, he likes somethings sometimes 
what I wouldn’t like, so he and Jean goes alone. 
Say, Philip, you know about the time Daniel bought 
the tickets? ” He bent a laughing face upon him, 
his very nose seeming to scent the memory of the 
joke. 

“No; what was that?” questioned Philip, the 
feeling that he was at some variety performance 
growing with the speeding minutes. 

With a wave of the hand Joseph swept plate and 
glasses out of his way, and leaned his arms upon 
the table in an abandonment of enjoyment, his 
bushy eyebrows appearing to wink at Philip as he 
bent forward in confidential confab. 

“ You know,” he said, speaking in a somewhat 
lower voice, as though fearful of being overheard, 
“ Daniel isn’t the man who gets the best of a bar- 
gain. He’s a little too good, you know. Where he 
has to do with business he is like a little chile. 
You know what the young people call him? — the 
Chevalier. Because, Jean explained to me, he is 
like some man who once lived who was ‘without 
reproach/ Well, he goes to the telephone, and 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


29 


takes off his hat, because he thought at first a 
lady’s voice answered him, and he asks for two 
good seats; ‘ the first seats, please/ he says — I give 
you my word — I heard him. And what do you 
think? When we come to our seats, sure enough 
we have the first seats — the first seats from the 
door! Daniel gets red in the face like fire, hut 
he only lifts up his head and says, ‘ There was 
some misunderstanding ’ — and could I tell him it 
was a joke? But that ain’t all. Now comes the 
joke on me. You know it’s a piece about a man 
what escapes from prison, and when they go run- 
ning after him, somehow, in the excitement, they 
catch the wrong man, and I too got so excited I 
jump up and holler out, ‘ You’ve got the wrong 
man! You’ve got the wrong man! ’ And Daniel 
pulls me by the coat and says, ‘ Sit down, Joseph, 
sit down ; they’ve got the right man — it’s that way 
in the play’ — and he drags me into my seat. Gott! 
I thought I should die a-laughing.” 

He wiped his eyes now, and as the appreciative 
response died from Philip May’s lips, the distance 
between them had widened as star from star. 

“ I am not of this world,” thought the scion of 
cultured modernity, even as, centuries before, 
another young J ew said of another world and found 


30 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


— Golgotha. But he continued to smile pleasantly 
upon his father. 

“ Oh, we can tell you lots of little stories like 
that,” Joseph promised, tilting back his chair in 
order to reach the box of cigars on the side-table. 
“ But — I guess you won’t want to be sitting nights 
with an old stick-in-the-mud like me. Lots of 
young men they like to come and sit or talk with 
Daniel, but me, I guess I ain’t much company. Of 
course when you begin to practice you won’t have 
much time ” — he leaned across to light his cigar at 
Philip’s — “but — ” 

He noticed that his companion’s attention had 
wandered, and presently realized that the room was 
filled with distant music. 

“ Who is that? ” demanded Philip, briefly. 

“That is Jean. You can always hear it like 
it was in the next room. What you think of 
that? ” He looked at him in placid triumph. 

The music thrilled gloriously through the divid- 
ing-walls. Philip listened in artistic wonderment 
and enjoyment. 

“ She knows how to play,” he returned, with the 
last note. 

“Yah. So every one says. There she goes 
again.” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


31 


But in the midst of the mounting Schubert 
ecstasy there was a sudden crash of chords — and 
silence. 

“ She often does like that/ 5 said Joseph, as 
though relieved. “But I was saying about the 
way you will pass your time. Of course you will 
join a club; I was thinking I will have your name 
put up at the Concordia, and Louis Waterman says 
he wants you in the Verein.” 

Dr. May meditatively flicked the ash from his 
cigar. He had a singularly well-formed hand, and 
Joseph was attracted by its perfect control. Sud- 
denly the cool hazel eyes looked up and met his 
father's. 

“I may as well tell you at once," he said, in 
pleasant brevity, with a gentle intonation, as he 
might have used in addressing a woman or a patient, 
“ that I shall not join any Jewish club.” 

The blood surged darkly over Joseph's face as 
if in response to a blow. “Why not?” he man- 
aged to ask. 

“ Frankly,” explained Philip, lightly, “ beyond 
the blood I was born with, pretty nearly all the 
Jew has been knocked out of me.” 

“ So,” said Joseph May. 

“I rather think it got its first blow the day 


32 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


when, a little shaver, I ran howling to Katie de- 
manding to know what the fellows in the street 
meant by calling me a ‘ Christ-killer ’ — they did 
such things here in the early seventies, you know. 
‘ Sure/ said Katie — I remember her word for 
word — ‘ that’s what you be, I guess, my lamb/ 
* And who was Christ? ? I asked. You remember 
the name was taboo on Jewish lips in those same 
broad-minded days. ‘Bless the little haythen/ 
said Katie, ‘ don’t he know that Christ was the 
Lord?* ‘And when did I kill him?’ I asked, 
deeply interested in my forgotten crime. ‘ Oh, cen- 
turies ago/ replied the girl, ‘ hundreds of centuries 
ago/ ‘Before I was born?’ I asked, in astonish- 
ment. And, pityingly, she answered yes. It was 
a curious conundrum to start a child with on the 
road of investigation. I unraveled it as I went — 
knocked the meaning out of it against the bars, 
vague, yet ever discernible to a sensitive nature, 
which ever and again rose between my playmates, 
my schoolmates, my teachers, and myself, and 
huddled me into my inherited confines. It was 
not a pretty inheritance. It proscribed me here 
even in my boyhood. I was an American — with a 
difference. I hated the difference. I wanted to be 
successful — successful socially as well as profes- 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


33 


sionally. I resolved to override every obstacle to 
obtain that perfect success. 

“The opening came at Harvard. Thanks to 
you I have been endowed with a name which tells 
no tales, thanks to my mother my features are 
equally silent. I was thrown in with a crowd of 
young Bostonians — Harleigh was one of them — 
who, through the fact that I had been seen in the 
Unitarian church, took me for one of their own 
persuasion. It was a suggested evasion of an unfit 
shackle. There was no preconceived deception. 
I simply filled the bill. No doubt was ever evinced 
and no chance of an explanation ever offered itself. 
There was no need to drag in an uncongenial fact 
when the nature of our intimacy never called for 
one ” 

“ No,” said Joseph May. 

“ After that came Leipsic, and still I was bound 
by the closest ties of friendship to Harleigh, who 
was just then beginning to show symptoms of the 
disease which eventually — . But about my 
backsliding from Judaism. You know Germany 
is scarcely the soil one would select for fostering 
the ancient seed, the body Judaic being held 
there, for the most part, in manifest social disfavor. 
I once saw a curious exhibition of conflicting forces 


34 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


in a beer-hall in Berlin. A party of students, 
musicians, were seated at a table near me, drinking, 
making merry, and talking freely, when one of 
them ventured the sentiment that what the J ewish 
composers couldn’t borrow they stole, in conform- 
ity to J acobian precept and tradition. Thereupon, 
a young fellow, with Hebrew characters written all 
over his face, struggled to his feet, was about to 
vent his indignation, but, upon second thought, 
laughed confusedly, and sat down again. Discre- 
tion had conquered valor. It was an interesting 
psychic display. Here’s another incident in point 
which may amuse you. I was seated one night in 
Paris at a fashionable table d’hote, when there en- 
tered a number of English parvenu Jews, glaringly 
and aggressively attired, and evidently dazzled by 
the unaccustomed importance and luster of their 
own jewels and satins. I had just become disinter- 
estedly conscious of their entrance, when a grande 
dame seated near me leaned quickly forward and 
said, ‘ Pardon, monsieur, but would you mind tak- 
ing the seat next me? I shudder to think of one 
of those Jews being placed beside me.’ It was 
highly diverting, but I moved up, and trust she was 
more comfortable. But so the fashion goes the 
world over. The question — if it is a question — is 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


35 


no better in England, where a noted English litter- 
ateur, himself a J ew, has summed up the situation 
by saying that the great middle class, at least, hung 
between the Ghetto it has outlived and the Chris- 
tian society it can neither live with nor without, 
presents the miserable picture of a people astray. 
And judging by my incognito visits behind the 
scenes, in intercourse with my own countrymen, 

I should say that the Jew, per se , has never been 
given the latch-key to the American Christian 
heart. At best he is received with a mental reser- 
vation. Apparently, practically, we present the 
magnificent spectacle of a country without racial 
prejudices. Individually, morally, as the French 
say, we are very wide of the mark. Why, the mere 
fact of the restrictions against them at many of 
the summer resorts throughout the country openly 
bears me out. In short, I have discovered that to 
be a Jew, turn wheresoever you will, is to be socially j 
handicapped for life.” 

He paused to relight his cigar. His father sat 
with his elbows on the table, his hand partly shad- 
ing his face. He had laid down his half-smoked 
cigar. The doctor, after a few thoughtful puffs 
toward the ceiling, resumed his quietly serious 
monologue. 


36 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ I don’t know whether I wrote you, hut among 
my personal treasures I value nothing more highly 
than the friendship formed while abroad with the 
family of Dr. Otis of this city, an uncle of Harleigh, 
who, in anticipation of my coming, has named me 
for the lately vacated chair of clinical surgery at 
C College. 

“ I am not at all anxious to disclose to him, 
just at present at least, that I am not what I have 
appeared to him to he — a Christian horn. You see 
I should be making a move in the wrong direction 
were I to identify myself unnecessarily with -any 
Jewish club, Jewish anything, or Jewish anybody. 
Dr. Otis’s son wrote me some weeks before I left 
Edinburgh that, with my consent, he would be 
glad to put my name up at his club. I accepted, 
not that I am particularly anxious to get into this 
or any Christian club, but feel quite sure that is 
all that I shall have time or inclination for. And 
from the nature of the life I have led, I am certain 
that Otis’s club will prove more congenial than 
would a club composed entirely of Jews, from whom 
I have become estranged both socially and sym- 
pathetically.” 

He threw down his cigar, having fully analyzed 
his position. “ Religiously,” he concluded, with a 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


37 


smile of indifference, “ from the meager memory 
I have of it, I consider Judaism a dead letter, a 
monument to the past. If it advances, it does so 
crab-like — as its followers read their prayer- 
books — backward. Only professionally have I any 
use for graveyards, and for ceremonies — the mean- 
ingless yearly shams and shows and protesta- 
tions — not that! ” He snapped his fingers in the 
air. “ Well, father,” he asked, with a pleasant 
laugh, bringing his hand down upon the table in 
mark of finality, “ do you understand my stand? 
Are you wid me or agin me? ” 

He glanced toward the silent figure opposite, 
sitting with hand on brow. The hand was slowly 
lowered and the old man turned his face upon his 
son. His mouth was curiously twisted, as though 
a smile had been contorted into a sneer. He leaned 
across the table, vainly endeavoring to speak, the 
dark blood rushing thickly over his neck and face. 

The doctor was beside him on the instant. 
“Lean back,” he commanded, his arm about his 
shoulders, his hand at his cravat. 

The old man hurled him off with intolerant 
violence. “ Let go,” he articulated, in an unrecog- 
nizable voice, “let go — you — you — meshumad!” 

The barbarous-sounding word held no meaning 


38 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


for Philip May. Scarcely understanding the cata- 
clysmal effect of his words, conscious only of the 
urgent need of help, he summoned the housekeeper 
on the instant. 

“ My father needs assistance,” he said, briefly ; 
“ see what you can do for him — and quickly, 
please.” 

The bewildered woman came forward wringing 
her hands. “ The drops, sir,” she said, “ the drops ; 
Miss J ean said they was — Lord o’ mercy, Mr. May, 
where did she say they was ? ” 

“ Run — ask,” gasped the old man, struggling 
with pain, his eyes turned completely from the 
pale, frowning man standing frustrate beside him. 
“ Ask — but say — she shall not come — nor Mr. Wil- 
lard. Say I am — very happy — only this — ” 

“ Go, Katie,” commanded Dr. May, sharply. 

The woman opened the door and fled across the 
back porch. Her wild ringing was immediately 
answered, Daniel Willard’s tall figure appearing 
holding wide the door. 

“ Where’s Miss Jean?” she implored, half sob- 
bingly; and as at that moment the girl herself 
approached, she stepped over the threshold. “ Oh, 
Miss Jean,” she cried, distractedly, “ where did 
you say you left the drops the doctor — ” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


39 


“ In the upper drawer of the sideboard. Run 
back at once, Katie, if Mr. May is ill.” 

“Yes, yes, Miss Jean — the top drawer. Oh, 
no, he’s not sick. Him sick! Nary a hit — he’s 
just billin’ and cooin’ wid Mr. Philip same’s a pair 
of turtle-doves.” Her voice was lost in the dis- 
tance. 

Daniel Willard turned a pair of startled eyes 
upon his niece. 


CHAPTER III 


The words came in a cry of bitter agony. 

“ I am so ashamed, Daniel — I am so ashamed.” 

The two old men sat in the Park on a bench 
facing the Scott Key monument. It was an ideal 
end-of-February day; grass and flowers were del- 
uged with spring sunshine; from the distance 
came the clamor of happy birds; children ran by, 
the springtime spell in their cheeks, their eyes, 
their joyous limbs. A serene, cloudless sky, trans- 
parent as a jewel, overtopped it all. 

They had wandered up to and through the 
aviary to the grand court of the Midwinter Fair 
grounds, past the reminiscent Museum and Jap- 
anese village, and now, after a detour through 
shaded and unshaded walks, had been sitting here 
for almost an hour, Joseph gazing dumbly before 
him, only relaxing when a perfunctory “ yah ” or 
“no” was dragged from him by DaniePs tender 
garrulity. The Frenchman himself had been silent 
for several seconds when the irresistible cry came. 

He turned his gently strong face toward his 
4 o 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


41 


friend. “Don’t speak about it— if it hurts, 
J oseph,” he said, in loving solicitude, yet with con- 
trolled curiosity. 

a Hurts! I wish I could close my eyes forever.” 
The straight lips shut against each other as if for 
mutual support. 

“No, no. It is not so bad. It cannot he. We 
must not judge so quickly.” 

“ My son is a meshumad” 

“ Ah, he is no criminal. He is only in style.” 

“ Tell me, is it too the style that a man shall be 
ashamed from his father? ” 

“ Bah! You speak banalities, Joseph.” 

“ I know from what I speak. I can read under 
his fine English of it. I wish I had no more to 
speak.” 

“ Will you break my heart, Joseph? ” 

“ What is that — when a heart breaks? ” 

“ Come, come. Are you a man? ” 

“No. I am a dog — a Jew — an ignorant, unedu- 
cated Jew. The son is ashamed from his father.” 

“ Joseph, if you talk any more such nonsense, 
I will go home. I give you my word I cannot 
bear it. Come — what was it all about? Tell 
me — if you care to.” 

The heavy, darkened eyes looked straight ahead. 


42 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


He began to speak in slow, biting sarcasm, turning 
the knife in his own heart. “ My son is so educated. 
You don’t know how fine he is. We — me — not 
you — yes, you too, perhaps — you are a Jew, I 
think? Well, we will go some day and ask him if 
we can black his boots. You never knowed how 
mean and low and stupid you and me always was, 
Daniel. Well, I know — my son told me last night. 
Jews is what the niggers down South used to call 
po’ white trash. My son told me so last night. It 
ain’t good to he a J ew, because then the Christians 
don’t like you. It ain’t good to he a Jew, because 
when the Christians don’t like you, you can’t get 
along in this world. So it is better you turn round 
and he something else. My son told me so last 
night. And if you have a Jew for a father, you 
must not say he is your father, because then you 
will he found out, and then how all would laugh! 
And for a religion — that is the funniest thing of 
all — the Jews have for a religion a dead body, hut 
they make believe it is alive! Yes, it is true. 
Didn’t my son told me so last night?” The sneer- 
ing voice ended in a miserable groan. 

Daniel laid his gloved hand heavily upon 
J oseph’s, hut J oseph threw it off fiercely. 

“ Don’t,” he said, roughly. “ What do I care 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


43 


what he thinks about any religion. When he can 
live better without it — let him. But you — yon can- 
not know what a father knows when his chile is 
ashamed to look him in the face. I tell yon I 
know , Daniel.” He turned his eyes passionately 
upon the protest of the other, his mouth setting 
bull-doggedly. “ And 111 tell you how I answered 
him.” His tone changed suddenly to heart-burst- 
ing suavity. “ I made out a new will this morning, 
according. I sent for Paul Stein. A fine will, like 
you talk so much about— with University Scholar- 
ships and Hospitals in, and ich weiss viel! So well 
he can go alone and has no more use for his father, 
so well he has no use for his father’s money. I put 
it all in the will, and it sounds kind and grand the 
way Stein wrote it — and nobody will understand — 
because I fooled even Stein. But whenever it is 
read, you’ll know — and he’ll know, just what it 
means. I left him a dollar — that’s the law, Stein 
says — and he can make Shabos with it, or put it in 
a crepe band on his hat when it is still the style to 
make believe you care. But it won’t make me 
nothing out. For me — I will he silent in my 
grave.” 

Daniel could not speak for grief. His own face 


44 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


was eloquent with repression. But, “ I will speak 
to him/’ he said, finally. 

“ Speak to him! Speak to that stone.” He 
pointed his cane toward the glistening marble of 
the monument. “ Will you tell him — nicely — be- 
cause you always speak nicely — will you tell him, 

‘ Philip, you must love your father ’? And will he 
come and give me his arm? Ach , Daniel, lass mich 
gehen 

“You go too quickly, Joseph. Me, I do not 
jump like you. No; I will go to him and tell him 
why he should love his father and — his religion.” 

Joseph’s laugh rang out jeeringly. “ You always 
did tell yourself pretty moshelich” he said, gruffly. 
“ Did they never end bad — your pretty moshelich? ” 

“ Once. But that was a foolish one.” 

“ And you think you can move a rock? ” 

“ I know from where the rock springs. You, 
too, are a rock, Joseph — but you are only his 
father.” 

“ Be still,” commanded Joseph, flashing a pair 
of resentful eyes upon him. Then he continued 
more calmly. “ You remember how he used to 
plant his little legs and say, ‘ I won’t! ’ — and no- 
body could whip him? You remember? Well, he 
has only grown up.” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


45 


“ What a fine little fellow he was,” mused 
Daniel. “ You remember, Joseph? ” 

Perhaps in all the vocabulary there is nothing 
wider in its yearning tenderness, sooner calculated 
to find the rift in the rough wall of sorrow, than 
the word spoken as Daniel spoke it. 

“ Ach Gott! ” said Joseph, brokenly. 

“ Listen. I think I know your hoy. The more 
you oppose him or combat him, the more he will 
set his face against you. I know the type. But 
seem to give in to him, while, without his knowing, 
you gently lead him around your way, and, sooner 
or later, he will give in.” 

“ I am not smart enough.” 

“ It .is not smart you must he — it requires only 
a little tact.” He raised a suggestive, deeply experi- 
enced eyebrow. 

“ That is the same thing,” said Joseph, bluntly. 
“ Do you expect I will take my hat under my arm 
and make him a deep bow, and say, * Good son, kind 
son, I am sorry that my father was not rich like 
yours — because if he was you would not he ashamed 
of me — but I made a fool of myself last night. For- 
give me — I will not do it again/ ” 

Daniel turned from him in pain. 


46 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ Well, what do yon want I shall do? ” demanded 
the other, savagely. 

“Me? What do I know? ” 

“You know you know better than me. Why 
are you so stubborn, Daniel? ” 

Daniel flashed a radiant face upon him. “ When 
he comes home to-night — 99 he began. 

“ He will not come home to-night,” said J oseph. 
“ You mean — 99 

“ He did not stay last night ; I did not ask him.” 
“ Then you have not seen him since? ” 

“ He came this morning. I would not see him.” 
“ Ah.” 

“ He left a card.” 

“ Where is it? ” 

“ I threw it away.” 

“ Then you do not know where he is stopping? ” 
“ I looked before I threw it away.” 

“ Do you remember his address? ” 

“ I think it was the Palace Hotel.” 

“ You are not sure? ” 

“Yes; I am quite sure.” 

“ Joseph, do you want me to go for you? ” 

“ You think it will pay, Daniel? ” 

“We can risk a little visit. It will not cost 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


47 


much. Is it not proper that I should welcome my 
young friend home? ” 

“ What will you say? ” 

“ Will you leave it to me? ” 

“ And, Daniel? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ No one will know about it? Not Jean? ” 

“ Not from me, Joseph.” 

“ Daniel? ” 

“ Joseph? ” 

“Nix. Shall we smoke a little before we go 
home, Daniel ? 99 


CHAPTER IV 


Toward the eighth hour of the evening of the 
same day, Daniel and Jean Willard were seated 
together, as they generally sat directly after din- 
ing, when socially disengaged. The girl was at the 
piano, flooding the room with music. The man 
sat in a glow of lamplight, having drawn his chair 
close to the table, and his fine leonine head was 
thrown into strong relief; his eyes were on his book. 
It was a pleasant room at any time, expressive of its 
inmates, cozy with love of physical comfort, unpre- 
tentiously interesting in artistic and intellectual 
enthusiasms happily confessed. 

They had been sitting thus for nearly an hour, 
each lost in his and her own occupation, each only 
sub-consciously awake to the other’s presence, when 
Daniel Willard looked at his watch, laid his pencil 
within his book, and rising, softly left the room. 
The girl played on until the quietude of the back- 
ground stealing to her senses, she turned her head 
and found herself alone. She lingered a moment, 
then strayed over to the table. 

48 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


49 


An interested, puzzled light passed into her 
eyes as they fell upon the open book, attracted 
there by the penciled annotations. She was smil- 
ing perplexedly over them when her uncle reap- 
peared in the doorway. He wore a handsome dark 
overcoat ; his top-hat was in his gloved hand. 

“ Going out, uncle?” she asked, absently, 
scarcely glancing up. “ Well, before you go tell 
me what m-e-s-h-u-m-a-d means.” She spelled it 
carefully, looking up at him as she finished. 

He started perceptibly, coming farther into the 
room. “ Are you studying Hebrew, dear child? ” 
he asked, with smiling restraint. 

“ Hot I,” laughed the girl. “ There are so many 
more useful and ornamental things to learn. But 
you have written the word here all over the margins 
of these two pages and — ” 

“I!” His startled exclamation was accom- 
panied by his swift approach. “ Let me see,” he 
said, laying down his hat and taking the book from 
her. As he adjusted his eyeglass he colored deeply. 

“ It is strange,” he observed, finally, “ how 
unconsciously one’s thought will pass into one’s 
pencil and father the word. It is very strange.” 
He laid down the book and picked up his hat. 


50 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“But what does the word mean, uncle ?” the 
girl insisted. 

“ Oh, yes, yes. Let me see — ” reflected the 
scholar. “ The root is shomad or shamad , which 
means to destroy — hence, meshumad , as ordinarily 
pronounced, means one who is destroyed; hut as 
generally accepted, it means the destroying spirit, 
or one who is destructive or inimical to his reli- 
gion. Hence, an apostate.” 

Her gray eyes opened wide, a dull, intuitive flush 
creeping to her cheek. “ And what has Philip May 
to do with apostates? ” she asked. 

“ Philip May? Why do you speak of him? ” 

“ Why, dear, your page is as black with his name 
as with the other word.” 

He gave an ejaculation of annoyance, but imme- 
diately recovered his naive equanimity. “ Ah,” he 
smiled, placing his hand under her uplifted chin, 
and kissing her good night, “ did I not tell you that 
the conscious thought is father to the written act? 
— I am going to call upon Philip May at his hotel 
to-night.” 

“At his hotel? Uncle, you are keeping some- 
thing from me.” Her lifted face was stern and 
pleading. 

A sudden fear shook Daniel Willard’s con- 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


51 


science. "Why, it is nothing, cherie ,” he said, 
gently. “ But — you must know that Joseph and 
his son are — what shall I call it? — at the two Jew- 
ish social extremes — esthetically speaking.” 

“ Oh, vile! ” breathed the girl on impulse, 
understanding instinctively. 

“ No, only products of different ages. And this, 
of which Philip May is a product, is a very artificial 
age, my dear — one in which even ideals have 
become artificial. Society is a matter of tastes, not 
of opinions. Appearances are the only arguments 
for or against a man — all the heaven in the human 
soul becoming pulled down, hedged round, slaved 
in by the tyrant Good Form — the shibboleth of 
modern social pharisaism. But, being of this age,” 
he smiled, “ one must subscribe to the age’s require- 
ments, or fall out of line, n’est-ce pas ? — The right 
coat — the right manner — when the Jew will have 
regained these — especially the latter — he will have 
arrived at his renaissance. I speak in all simplicity 
and without bitterness,” said Daniel Willard, mov- 
ing into the hall. 

She followed him silently to the door. “ I saw 
him this morning,” she said, with apparent irrele- 


ft 


vance. 

“ And? 


52 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ He was going up his father’s steps when I 
came out here. And he saw me.” 

“ That was pleasant for him.” 

She laughed angrily, and again a sense of fear, 
not unmixed with guilt, assailed Daniel’s con- 
science as he went down the steps. 

Jean returned to the sitting-room. She picked 
up a magazine and threw herself into her uncle’s 
great chair. She made no pretense at reading. A 
vague sense of exclusion, of being out in the cold, 
was upon her, and she shivered as though an open 
door whither she had been approaching unawares 
had been suddenly slammed in her face. She stood 
still, in quivering, girlish shame and confusion. 

If Jean Willard had a fad, it was for things of 
the mind; if she had a passion it was for people 
with minds. She had, theoretically, an enthusias- 
tic sympathy with the Hegelian concept of Beauty’s 
being Spirit shining through matter — though you 
might easily have doubted this, judging from her 
outspoken worship of all beauties seen of the eye. 
Yet it was on the former basis that she had made 
her own atmosphere and chosen or discarded her 
associates. She therefore belonged to none and to 
all of the finely demarcated circles which go to 
make Jewish society. Morally free and independ- 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


53 


ent, never rich, but always provided with the 
necessities and a few of the comparative luxuries 
of life, sought after for her talent and seeking 
others for theirs, frankly amused or disgusted over 
the strenuous climbing up the social ladder of those 
who had not yet arrived, or of those little Alexan- 
ders, who, having conquered their own, look around 
for more worlds to conquer — she held an individual 
position. 

Society, so called, had a bowing, not an intimate, 
acquaintance with her. Among those she loved she 
was a magnetic, an imperious power. To most peo- 
ple she was a sealed hook, hut once known she was 
known by heart. Of high enthusiasms, bravely 
loyal and optimistic, hating narrow-minded hypoc- 
risy as she loved broad-shouldered dauntlessness, 
she had reached her twenty-fifth year, one of those 
modern anachronisms, a woman with ideals. Had 
she ever expressed herself to the rank and file upon 
certain subjects, she would have been as one speak- 
ing a dead, hence ridiculed, language. But she 
never expressed herself — fully — upon certain sub- 
jects — to any one. 

Nevertheless, a delicate sympathy had always 
existed between herself and her uncle — they under- 
stood each other as most high-minded people, 


54 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


dwelling together, must understand one another. 
In all probability she could have been no more con- 
fidential to a mother or a sister, had she had either, 
than she was to him. He, imagining her, loved her, 
— chivalrously; she, knowing him, loved him rever- 
entially. They were the best of good comrades. 

And thus it was that, from the beginning, Daniel 
Willard had discoursed to her upon what, to him, 
was the wonder, past and to he, of Philip May. Thus 
she, with her passion for perfection, began to burn 
her candles. Thus, as his coming drew near, and 
the two old men, nourishing a tender hope, waxed 
warm and eloquent over his loyalty to his friend, 
his professional success, his goodly appearance as 
evidenced in his portraits, his love of music and of 
all things artistic, the girl’s imagination was loosed. 
And thus we come to the anomaly of a woman’s 
loving an idea, an unknown quantity. 

In the reaction caused by her uncle’s veiled ex- 
planation, her intuitive grasp caught at the un- 
adorned facts of the situation : the coldly ambitious 
man whom culture had estranged from, made lost 
to sympathy with the illiterate old J ew, his father. 
She had the faculty of putting herself in his place, 
could understand the shock to his refined ear and 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


55 


tastes, could gauge the shudder of his amour propre 
when confronted by his origin. Yet, knowing 
Joseph May’s unworldly worth, his limitless gen- 
erosity and good-nature, his yearning tenderness 
for this same gifted son upon whom he had show- 
ered all the advantages which had been denied him, 
— accepting unquestioningly and unconditionally 
the wisdom of the fifth commandment — for having 
known neither father nor mother since maturing, 
she had never been troubled by the cynicism of the 
“ choice of parents ” — her gentle womanhood set 
its face against her colder, keener estimate of the 
man. Woman-like — she understood the ugly 
truth, but could not excuse. 

As she sat there, her bitter knowledge of the 
snarl of things growing hopelessly wider and 
deeper, she heard the door-bell ring, and rose me- 
chanically to the convention of the moment. 

A slight young man with a sensitive, delicate 
face, limped into- the room. 

“ Why, Mr. Forrest,” exclaimed Jean, hastening 
forward, both hands outheld, “what a charming 
surprise! ” 

“Is it?” he asked eagerly, holding her hands 
close, and looking with almost brutal effrontery into 


56 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


her eyes. “ I was not sure that you would not con- 
sider it an intrusion. You have never asked me to 
call upon you.” 

“No,” she conceded, drawing her hands from 
his and pushing a chair forward. “ But do sit 
down.” 

He frowned quickly in answer. “ I am able to 
stand a minute,” he said roughly. “ Why not sit 
down yourself? ” He turned the chair peremptor- 
ily toward her, and, with a laugh of assumed care- 
lessness, she complied. She was diffident about 
combating Stephen Forrest’s vagaries. 

“I can only stay a second,” he said, leaning 
against the table near her. “ I dropped in to let 
you know that the workmen have left my studio, 
and it and I are in readiness for that sitting you 
promised me. When will you come? ” 

“ Do you still cherish that fantastic Judith no- 
tion? I assure you I am much too slight a crea- 
ture.” 

“ Not with your coloring — inner, I mean. Out- 
wardly, I know, you’re just a study in black and 
white. To-night, especially, your eyes — for whom 
are they in mourning? ” 

She craned her neck for a view of them in the 
glass. “ For their sins, I suppose,” she laughed. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


57 


“ The desire of the eyes? ” 

“Ah, that’s another story,” she said lightly. 
“ How is Kate? ” 

“ She’s all right. When will you come? Mon- 
day? ” 

“ You seem in a dreadful hurry. Think it over 
again — about my fitness as a model, I mean. There 
are any number of girls in the city better suited to 
the role.” 

“ Don’t. Of course I know the streets are full 
of Jews of all descriptions — if that’s what you 
mean — you knock against them at every corner, in 
every car. They’re a bit of local coloring — a prom- 
inent feature — the nose, in short,” — he laughed 
genially, — “ on the landscape, which our artists 
have forgotten to work up. But, speaking of Jews, 
reminds me. Do you happen to know a fellow 
named May — Dr. Philip May who has just returned 
from Europe — fellow with thick black hair, cock- 
sure eyes, and proud lift to his head? ” 

In an agony of self-consciousness, Jean felt the 
disgraceful, uncontrollable blood rush tc her brow 
— felt herself a victim of the peculiar insight of 
Stephen Forrest’s gaze. “ Hot personally,” she an- 
swered quietly. 


58 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


The artist turned inconsistently and seated him- 
self upon the couch directly opposite her. 

“ He’s a Jew, isn’t he? ” he demanded insolently, 
with a sudden ugly gleam in his eye. 

“ Yes— by birth.” 

“ The birth-sentence is life-sentence — isn’t it? ” 
he laughed daringly. “ Then I wonder why he is 
trying to sneak into our Club with that disbar- 
ment.” 

“ What disbarment? ” 

“Why, being a Jew.” 

“ Do you belong to such a Club ? What narrow 
doors you build! And is being a Jew a fault or a 
crime? ” 

“It’s a misfortune — it keeps the unfortunates 
out of our Club.” He laughed airily, yet with de- 
liberation. 

“ Why? ” 

“ Quien sale ? ” he shrugged. “ The reason’s be- 
yond me. It’s one of those inherited reasons passed 
down, like a title, from father to son. Oh, it’s a 
very aristocratic prejudice, I assure you.” 

“ You mean bigotry.” 

“ Now don’t be clannish — and pray don’t grow 
argumentative.” 

“ I suppose you know you are saying rather ex- 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


59 


traordinary things to me — or have you forgotten 
that I am a Jewess? ” 

“ Oh, you/’ he said, his brilliant eyes recording 
his valuation of her — “ you are a woman. Your sex 
unsects you.” 

She raised her head arrogantly. “ One always 
allows you great latitude, Mr. Forrest,” she vouch- 
safed icily. “ I did not think you would make 
capital of my indulgence.” 

He leaned impulsively toward her. “ Don’t in- 
dulge me,” he commanded angrily. “And don't 
pity me. Hate me, rather. That, at least, implies 
no weakness in the object thought of.” 

She was startled by the full display of feeling, 
although she had had, time and again, ample proof 
of his total lack of self-control. She had always 
pitied him as a potentially strong character warped, 
through affliction, into an ungovernable, selfish 
temperament. But his present insolence had 
aroused a sense stronger than any sentiment she 
could even bear for him — a defensive sense which 
only announced itself when assailed. 

“ You are not worth hating,” she returned, slow- 
ly, distantly, her eyes traveling from his feet to 
his head and away. 

He turned a dull, dark red. “Why, what is 


60 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


Philip May to you?” he asked, all regard for the 
sound of things swept out of him by a sudden un- 
reasoning jealousy. 

“ What he is probably to you — a J ew,” she re- 
turned calmly, her eyes down-glancing at him. 

“Bah! Even half-closed, your eyes can’t lie. 
And as for myself — he isn’t worth the lying about 
— as I am not worth the hating. But I’ll tell you 
what he is to me. I went to school with him. He 
started out to be clever, and when a Jew starts 
out to be clever there’s no telling how far his clev- 
erness will take him — which sentiment you may 
interpret according to your own lights and — preju- 
dices. Well, I always hated him. I had that hate 
for him that the fellow who always comes in second 
has for him who always comes in first. Can you 
understand that kind of hate? Things came to 
him; I had to go to them. He strolled — I strug- 
gled; he came in victor, laughing — I came in beat- 
en, panting. We both had brains — he just more 
than I; we both were artistic — I just more than he. 
But he had money and was launched — while I had 
none and was stranded — here.” The girl trembled 
under the corroding envy which left him pallid. 

“ But what’s that the poet says about the first 
being last, and all that rot? ” he laughed sneering- 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


61 


ly. “ Well,” — he sprang up— “ teach it to Philip 
May — candidate for membership in the Omar Club 
of San Francisco. Oh, Fve been making a display 
of myself again, I know,” he added with studied 
carelessness, “ hut you have such e divine tender- 
ness/ as my sister Kate says in describing some of 
your playing, that I know you’ll forgive — and 
shake hands? ” He held his hand out with a feint 
at contrition. 

“ Oh, no,” she returned playfully, holding her 
own hand behind her, “ what are you thinking of, 
Mr. Forrest? Mine is a Jewish hand, you know. 
It wouldn’t dream of putting itself where it would 
not be given the honor due its ancient lineage.” 

“ Oh, come now,” he pleaded, “ let’s not split 
straws. Whatever I have suggested or said with 
that confounded loose tongue of mine doesn’t 
concern you. And — when are you coming to sit 
for me? ” 

“ Why, never, Mr. Forrest.” 

“ Good heavens, you would not be so childish — 
you would not destroy a conception that has taken 
fast possession of me ever since that twilight when 
I came upon you playing that Beethoven adagio. 
Oh, impossible. Miss Willard, impossible!” He 
spoke in imploring eagerness. 


62 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ You don’t know my possibilities/’ she returned 
with iron gentleness. "I am a J ewess — J ew 
rather, when it comes to my people’s being insulted 
by those who know nothing about them. How, 
I’m going to give you a little gratuitous lesson: 
Every one of us carries the blood, the history of all 
of us in his veins, no matter how different we may 
appear, and when you sneer at one of us, you sneer, 
by implication, at all of us — a communal sentiment, 
not always comfortable, or commendable, or justifi- 
able, I know. But there it is. So you see I could 
not cross your threshold without bringing all those 
shocking old Ghettites and their diversified grand- 
children with me — and I could not allow them to 
be coldly treated.” 

“ You have a very mixed identity,” he admitted 
sarcastically. 

“ Yes. Droll, isn’t it? ” she returned as though 
suddenly struck by the thought. 

“ And you won’t come? ” 

“ Ho,” she looked him straight between the eyes. 

He set his teeth over his futile plea. “ And all 
this wasted race-valor for a — Philip May,” he said 
derisively with raised brows. “ Well, I never could 
compete with him on any proposition. I might as 
well say good-night.” He bowed, waited a moment 


HEIRS OE YESTERDAY 


63 


for her to give some response, but as she made no 
movement, he turned and limped from the room. 

She did not follow him. She heard the front 
door close behind him with a sigh of mingled relief 
and pain. It seemed to her as though he had made 
his disagreeable visit in a flash of time. 

Once before she had heard a rumor pointing to 
the fact that the Forrests were, had always been, 
J ew-haters, but she generally gave “ they say ” — 
gossip’s Mrs. Harris — the benefit of the doubt, and 
when she met Kate Forrest for the first time in the 
studio of their mutual music-master, had met her 
gracefully half-way. The musical friendship, thus 
begun, had never been troubled by the rumored 
cloven-foot, Kate Forrest keeping it well-hidden — 
if it existed — while she knelt in homage to her 
artist superior. And Stephen Forrest, the painter, 
lamed through an accident in childhood, hovering 
between his attic-studio and the family living- 
rooms, had, in his passionate love of beauty, drawn, 
like a moth to the flame, toward this music-souled 
Jewish girl with her lovely countenance. 

As for J ean, to speak truly, her religion had al- 
ways lain lightly upon her. It slept in the suburbs 
of her soul, out of the track and traffic of her life’s 
uses. She could not have recited the Thirteen Ar- 


64 


HEIRS OE YESTERDAY 


tides of faith at the point of a sword, hut she 
might have said there was something in them about 
the glory of the Ineffable to which she unhesitat- 
ingly subscribed. She might even have stumbled 
over the Ten Commandments, having been told by 
her uncle when she was years younger that the 
First was as the whole of which the rest were but 
elucidation; and, being a lazy little thing, glad of 
any chance for concentration of energy, she had 
never troubled herself to review them. However, 
she could remember a few stories of the Talmud 
and a number of beautiful quotations from the 
same, through having lived so long with that same 
gentle scholar, her uncle. But she knew her Bible 
— that is, she knew it literarily — its music and ima- 
gery having found instinctive response in her be- 
ing long before she had the power to discern the 
good within the song. She could not have defined 
her religion by a dogma, and that was because she 
also read the daily papers and other current liter- 
ature, — and, from the life-point view, a dogma only 
proves how truth may be a lie. And, nevertheless, 
she was a Jewess — having been born one. 

But of late, as mentioned before, she had made 
for herself a secret breviary which ran somewhat 
in this wise : “ In all Israel there was none to be 


HEIES OF YESTERDAY 


65 


so much praised as one Unnamed, for his beauty: 
from the sole of his foot even to the crown of his 
head there was no blemish in him.” 

It seemed to her now, as the house-door closed 
after Stephen Forrest, that all the hitherto straight 
rays of her life were being deflected, focused toward 
one isolated figure — the challenging figure of 
Philip May. 


CHAPTER V 


Dr. May hesitated on the curb before the Chron- 
icle Building at the corner of Market and Kearney 
streets. The hesitancy involved the trivial choice 
between paying a visit to the Otises, and receiving 
one from young Otis. Yet it was big with chance. 

As he stood illumined in the white flicker of the 
electric light, a party of young men came down 
Kearney Street. Noticing the tall figure under the 
tall light, one of them gave an exclamation of sur- 
prise and murmured a word to his companions, who 
crossed, waiting for him on the farther side of 
Lotta’s fountain. 

The other moved briskly toward the man hesi- 
tating on the edge of the sidewalk. “ Well, Phil/* 
he cried clapping him heartily upon the shoulder 
and holding out a hand, ct shake, old fellow!” 

Dr. May’s courteously distant eyes looked 
through the keen, acquisitive face, as through a 
pane of glass. “ Ah, Mr. — Mr. — Weiss, I be- 
lieve? ” he said politely, vaguely, as though asking 
a strange patient what might be the trouble to-day. 

66 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


67 


Weiss took his cue; his hand slid easily into his 
trouser pocket. "Well," he drawled, chuckling 
as with great amusement, " Em glad to see my old 
schoolmate back. Town's grown a little, you'll 
find. Which reminds me of an incident which took 
place in the Sunday-school of the Temple Emanuel 
on Sutter Street when you and I were kids there. 
Teacher asked class, ‘ What did Moses do before he 
wrote the Ten Commandments? ' Class nonplused 
until an embryo wit raised his hand and said, 
c Please, teacher, he kept a cloding-store! ' Remem- 
ber? Droll analogy, wasn't it? How's your 
father? " 

Without waiting for a reply, he sauntered jaunt- 
ily over to his companions, and passed on. 

Philip crossed the street, his excluding eyes fixed 
upon the brilliantly lighted hotel. He walked 
through the gleaming marble corridor with a 
frowning gratitude over the fact that no one knew 
him there, the idlers about, the elevator boy who 
gave him a passing glance, taking him at his own 
apparent valuation and dubbing him some visiting 
aristocrat. 

He entered his room and lit the gas. His delib- 
erate movements as he drew off his overcoat and 
seated himself before the table strewn with writing 


68 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


paraphernalia, betokened a quiet, undisturbed men- 
tal state. He opened the evening paper. But the 
printed words did not seem to hold his attention. 
Instead, a musing smile of cold disgust lit his fine 
eyes. The vulgar familiarity of the contretemps 
might have filled him only with amusement if it 
had not carried with it a baffling sense of defeat. 

He shook himself, as though to shake from his 
person and memory the tang — the Ghetto tang — 
which lay so unmistakably in the voice, the accent, 
the motions, the very cast of mind as of feature of 
these people who had stood still. It all spoke out 
so aggressively to his finely attuned senses, to his 
sensitive ear, to his inflexible social standards and 
requirements, to his nice discrimination between 
presumptuous intrusiveness and that self-respect- 
ing unobtrusiveness which respects the unseen in- 
dividuality of every other. It was the old sad story 
over again of the disillusioning effect of light. 

For of course it was ugly — as everything pointing 
to ignorance and oppression is ugly. 

“ We Jews! ” 

His jaw set hard as though some one had accosted 
him. What had he to do with Jewry? He stood off, 
examining himself, giving himself full value. He 
huddled the rest together in a heap. Yet even as 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


69 


he huddled them, the face and form of his father 
escaped, smiting him accusingly. Yet why? He 
had desired to live in amity with him — he had 
never gulled himself with the idea that they would 
be mentally companionable. But he was not an in- 
grate, and had never questioned the urgency of 
his duty toward him though he had returned to him 
only at this late day. True, he had developed con- 
trary to his father’s expectations and tastes and 
could never return to his limitations. He pictured 
himself introducing Joseph May as his father to 
certain high-bred friends — to the Otises — to Lilian 
Otis, for instance. His lips set in a grim smile over 
the imagined bewildering denouement. He laughed 
aloud, a stinging laugh, over her blue-book limita- 
tions frightened out of their sweet serenity by the 
alien touch upon her life. 

He closed his eyes in sign of denial to the gro- 
tesque, obtruding contingency. But with the clos- 
ing of his eyes, the clutch of the past, like a hand 
upon his shoulder, renewed its hold with impish 
malice. That there were Jews and Jews, Philip 
knew well — one sort mumbling and shaking out 
its prayers as at so many words a minute, keeping 
to the letter its minor fasts and great fasts, still 
happily believing themselves princes in Israel as 


70 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


soon as the praying-shawl went around their 
shoulders, the other erect, cool, skeptical to the top 
bent of the age, scanning the pages of prayer-book 
and life with the discriminating eye of intellect, 
hut retaining, for all that, Ghetto ghosts and echoes 
in mien, or voice, or mentality. And he who had 
cultivated an unconquerable distaste for all these 
symptoms, knew that his greatest folly lay in his 
cheating himself with the philosophy of the os- 
trich. Fifteen years of absence were as a day to 
these Jews, with their ridiculous claim of kinship, 
their petty village curiosity in whoever or what- 
ever bore the remotest identification with their 
race. Oh, the trail of the Ghetto was over them all. 

He threw down his paper, passed his hand across 
his brow, and, with a sharp shrug of dismissal, 
turned to the writing-table, just as a knock sounded 
upon the door. A card was handed him. 

A moment later, Daniel Willard, tall, elegant, 
dignified, a debonair carnation in his buttonhole, 
a charming light illumining his countenance, came 
toward him with outheld hand. 

“ Ah, Dr. May,” said the old gentleman, pressing 
his hand warmly, “ this is a great pleasure for me.” 

“ As for me,” returned Philip, the vivid color 
shooting up his clear, dark cheek. He wheeled a 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


71 


chair round toward him. “ You are looking well, 
sir. One would not be extravagant in thinking you 
had found the secret of eternal youth.” 

“ You think so? ” said Daniel, wistfully, putting 
down his hat and seating himself. “ But no. The 
truth came out in the car to-day when a young girl 
rose and offered me her seat. But of course I did 
not take it.” 

“ Of course not,” returned Philip, decidedly, con- 
scious of keeping himself well in hand under the 
tender regard of the soft brown eyes opposite him 
which seemed to pass like a gentle hand over his 
soul, measuring its height. “ No doubt she caught 
a glimpse of your mustache and let that signify the 
rest.” 

“ Perhaps,” he acquiesced, passing his hand over 
that silver military adjunct. “ You see, I use no 
hair-dye, and so fill no one with illusion — except 
myself. I confess to that.” His curly eyebrow 
went up, seeming to knock off his eyeglass, which he 
caught dangling.” So you see, after all, I stand ad- 
mittedly a back number — a man with illusions.” 

“ Yes? Then you’re out of the procession. The 
trend of all modern aim is to be without illusions.” 

“ But what shall one do when one is born with 


them ? 99 


72 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ Suit your appetite to your dinner — the cost of 
all idealism.” 

“Your advice comes just about six thousand 
years too late, I am afraid.” 

“ You have heard of the Roentgen ray? ” 

“Assuredly. It is the symbol of the age. It 
would seem as though a very stylish wit had dis- 
covered it. But me — I have another idea.” 

“ Let’s have it.” 

“ Oh, it is nothing. But I have thought that 
to see more — will be, perhaps, to see more that is 
admirable — beautiful. It is a purely material de- 
vice, you Roentgen ray, and can no more convert 
me than your Darwinian theory can alter my belief 
in the divine origin of man — though I will confess 
that sometimes the divinity seems as far distant as 
the monkey does always. But what has all this to 
do with your home-coming! Tell me, you must 
speak French like a native now. You remember 
those abominable verbs and what headaches they 
gave us? Come, show off a little for your old 
teacher.” 

Philip, laughing, drifted into gossip of the Pa- 
risian world of art, Daniel Willard’s fine old face 
flushing slowly, as with wine, while the life with 
which he had always kept himself in touch was 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


73 


charmingly, graphically unfolded for him. His 
glasses came off enthusiastically, were pointed ar- 
gumentatively, were closed excitedly, were adjusted 
decidedly, as he agreed or questioned his compan- 
ion, lending him finally his old experience, his 
minute encyclopedic knowledge, his personal ac- 
quaintance with some of the great, delightful men 
of his day whom he had met when, for a brief space 
of years, he had returned to Paris. 

“ Ah,” he exclaimed, with a sigh, “ it is like liv- 
ing the old charm over again. I read my old Paris 
in your young one, as — as I read your mother’s 
features in your face, my dear Philip. It is wonder- 
ful — the resemblance.” 

It came out naturally, uncontrollably, a trifle 
tremulously. He removed his glasses, polishing 
them solicitously. 

The slow color rose to Philip May’s brow. He 
bent a trifle forward. “ You knew my mother, I 
believe,” he said, swiftly. “ Tell me about 
her.” 

And Daniel Willard, gentle-eyed dreamer that he 
seemed, understood the whole harsh tragedy of the 
demand. It was as though the son of Joseph May 
had said, “ Account for me! ” 


74 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


And Daniel the diplomat, Daniel the lover, Dan- 
iel the friend, answered. 

“ Often I tried to account to myself for her per- 
fect loveliness,” he said, softly, reminiscently, “ and 
the only answer I could find was that she was an 
inspiration of God. There are many such inspi- 
rations, I believe, but I doubt if he has been just so 
inspired since. I take off my hat to the thought of 
her.” He flushed tenderly up to the roots of his 
silvery hair, with a wistful smile toward her son. 

A silence followed his words. Philip recovered 
himself with a quick, indrawn breath. “ Thank 
you,” he said, laconically. 

Daniel arose, picking up his hat. “ I have en- 
joyed my little tete-a-tete with you very much,” 
he said, holding out his hand. “ I am glad I came 
— as some of my young friends express it — although 
your father has asked me to dine with you and him 
Monday night, and the pleasure will be so soon 
renewed.” 

“ Monday night?” repeated Philip, question- 
ingly. 

“ Certainly; so I understood him to say to-day in 
the Park.” He said it lightly, as though deciding, 
perhaps, a point in rhetoric. “We spent a few 
sunny hours in the Park this afternoon. I have not 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


75 


seen him since, but I hope he is not lonesome. You 
see, nearly every night we have a little game of 
picquet — it is the only game I know — but one must 
have some plaything when one has a friend. But 
before I go, J ean — my niece who lives with me and 
who plays the piano a little — she plays like an 
angel, though I say it who should not — Jean will 
play perhaps for an hour for me, and during that 
time Joseph reads the evening paper. It is then 
he likes to have some one come in. A lundi , then! ” 
He held out his hand again. 

“You are very intimate with my father,” re- 
marked Philip, constrainedly, as he took his hand. 

“ Oh, yes. It is a very old intimacy. But of 
course you have heard that story.” 

“ I think not.” 

“No? Then I will tell it to you. I am as amus- 
ing as a lady’s postscript, am I not? However — . 
Many years ago when I was a lad of twenty earning 
a precarious living in New Orleans and the neigh- 
boring villages by giving lessons in French and 
German, I was traveling one morning from the 
city to Biloxi, and was suddenly taken with the 
most excruciating cramps it has ever been my for- 
tune to endure. I was in the depths of the woods, 
with no habitation in sight but a forsaken cabin. 


76 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


To this I crawled, thankful for the shelter from the 
blazing sun. There I lay in feverish agony the live- 
long day, begging for water from every passer-by, 
but at sight of me they all fled, crying, “ The fever!” 
as they ran. And they were quite right to run — 
quite right, for the yellow fever was then raging. 
But just at nightfall I heard strong, heavy foot- 
steps, and a rough, kind voice exclaimed out of the 
darkness , c Gott im himmel! 9 and there stood a little 
Jewish peddler. Well, he staid with me, and twen- 
ty-four hours after, I arose a well man. I have told 
you I take off my hat to do your mother’s memory 
reverence, hut I would take off my coat to fight for 
J oseph May. Good night.” He held out his hand 
again. 

Philip watched him walk down the gallery, light- 
ly, joyously, as one having glad, free thoughts. 
Then he shut the door. 

Was the man an emissary, a poseur , or only a 
rare specimen of human simplicity? At any rate, 
he found the sands sliding perilously under his feet, 
found himself clutching at the vanishing land- 
marks of his journey hitherto, only to have them 
glide mockingly from his grasp. He flushed un- 
comfortably, as though some one had laughed at 
him. He frowned again upon his impotency, upon 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


77 


the intruding memory of the man with his manifest 
refinements of aspect and thought and manner; 
he wondered why he suddenly remembered the girl 
whose shadowy, glad gray eyes had startled his 
prejudices that morning. 

But a second imperative knock again interrupted 
his thought. The lines fled from his brow at sight 
of the jovial-faced young fellow before him. 

“ Hello, Doctor,” the latter cried, coming into 
the room and depositing a violin case upon the floor 
as he sank into a chair. “ Thought Fd knock you 
up on my way to my apartments up above and see 
whether you’d settled upon an office yet. Didn’t 
I see the Prince of Courtesy come out of here just 
now? ” 

“ I suppose you mean Mr. Willard.” 

“Yes. Old friend of yours? Great old gentle- 
man, isn’t he? One always looks for a decoration 
in his coat when speaking to him. He is quite out 
of the regulation run of people with his stately, ex- 
quisite manner, — and the surprising thing about 
him is that he’s a Jew. You knew that, didn’t 
you? ” 

“ Perfectly.” 

“Exactly,” laughed the other. “He has the 
habit of always reminding one of the fact by some 


78 


HEIRS OE YESTERDAY 


manner of means, as though he were afraid one 
might forget it or think he was ashamed of it. 
Queer infatuation for the inevitable, eh? But 
to get hack to Gentile-ity — what about the 
office?” 

“ Eve about decided on the one on Sutter Street,” 
he responded, bringing his galloping thought to 
rest upon his visitor. “ But what do you mean by 
apartments up above? Don’t you live at the family 
home?” 

“ Did, but the workmen are all over the place, 
and I never could stand a mess. So I’ve pitched my 
tent here meanwhile, although my mother has me 
tied to her by a string. By the way, she sends you 
her love, and Lil — her respects.” 

“ Thanks,” laughed Philip. “ I shall call upon 
them as soon as I get in calling spirit.” 

“ By Jove, I was almost forgetting! They want 
you to dine with them Monday night — without 
ceremony. They told me to secure you to-night, 
and they’ll ring you up in the morning.” 

“ Too bad,” returned Philip, with polite regret. 
“ I have an appointment for Monday night.” He 
was surprised over his own decision, and stopped 
abruptly. 

“ Already! Our old sawbones said you had a 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


79 


neat little ovation at the college to-day. But I 
don’t suppose your date is with the medical depart- 
ment of your life.” 

“ Ho. With my father. These rooms were just 
a makeshift until now, when he finds himself ready 
to take me in.” 

“ A stranger, eh? But I can’t imagine any one’s 
taking you in — there’s something too cool and prac- 
tical about you — businesslike, one might say. But 
about your father. Queer we don’t know him. 
May — May? John May, the newspaper man? ” 

“ Ho,” said Philip, suppressing an internal grin. 
“ J oseph May — a retired merchant — in fact, a re- 
tired man in every sense. He has cared little for 
the world since my mother’s death.” 

“ That accounts for our ignorance then of his 
personality. I should like to meet the father of 
Philip May.” 

“ Some day,” promised Philip, in careless dis- 
missal. 

“ All right. And I want you to dine with me 
a month from to-day, April 1st, or 2d, will you? ” 

“ What’s the occasion so long anticipated? ” 

“ Well, the Omars meet for re-election of officers 
— and new members — March 31st, and I want 
to have a jollification in my rooms the night 


80 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


following — to celebrate your becoming one of us. 
You still play? — the piano, I mean, not cards.” 

“I can take a hand at either on occasion,” 
laughed Philip. “My accomplishments are pro- 
miscuous, if nothing else.” 

“ It’s all art — or science,” returned Otis, rising. 
“ And anything under those elastic heads goes with 
us. We’re not specialists in the art of life — we’re 
for the all together, as Stephen Forrest might put 
it.” 

“ Stephen Forrest? Surely I know that name.” 

“Artist, lame. Devilish clever.” 

“ I think I knew the man a little — we went to 
school together.” 

“ I’m glad of that. It’s better having Stephen 
Forrest with you than agin you. He has all the 
attraction of a danger signal.” 

Philip smiled. Being a San Franciscan born, 
and possessed of an excellent memory, the aristo- 
cratic prejudice of the Forrest family was not un- 
known to him. Besides which, he dimly remem- 
bered that between himself and this particular For- 
rest there had been, in the old days, little love lost 
or regretted. 

Left to himself, he set his brow against the hos- 
tile thought, as he set the judgment of his senses 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


81 


against the obtruding argument of Daniel Wil- 
lard’s personality. Suddenly a light flared up about 
the memory of the fleeting glimpse of those wonder- 
ful, glad gray eyes of the morning — his father’s 
insinuating words and tone, the diplomat’s careless 
allusion. 

“ Faugh! ” he thought, disgustedly, “ they’re all 
alike — shrewd, persuasive, crafty.” 

Which goes to prove how a name may carry its 
own judgment with it. 


CHAPTER VI 


“ Jean, Jean! Hurry a little, my dear,” called 
Daniel Willard from the foot of the stairs. 

“ But it’s early yet, uncle. Why, I believe you’ve 
actually put on your overcoat, and I haven’t even 
got into my gown and — ” 

“ Sh — ! ” The tall figure below disappeared 
through the door of the living-room and the girl 
retreated in surprise from the balustrade. 

But perhaps he was going farther after escorting 
her to Laura Brookman’s, she thought, and she 
had better not detain him unnecessarily — she held 
his stately disapproval in much too wholesome 
respect. The preliminaries to her toilet being ac- 
complished, it took her but a few minutes to com- 
plete it with the donning of the simple white gown 
which had seen much pleasant service, and pres- 
ently she was running downstairs, carrying her 
gloves and wrap, and pinning on her hat in her 
descent. 

“ Here I am,” she announced, coming into the 
flood of gaslight, still intent upon jabbing in a re- 
82 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


83 


fractory hat-pin. “It’s ridiculously early, but I 
don’t mind with Lau — ■” 

She stopped abruptly, her hands dropping from 
their task, at sight of the stranger standing tall and 
easy under the chandelier. 

“ Dr. May, J ean. My niece, Doctor/’ 

The girl acknowledged the introduction as he re- 
ceived it, with calm grace, reflecting the reserve 
in the glance from his hazel eyes, the distant smile 
upon his reticent lips, unprepared though she was 
for the meeting. 

“ Shall we not sit down ? ” she asked undecidedly, 
noticing that both gentlemen held their hats in 
their hands. 

Her uncle quickly undeceived her. “ Yo; if you 
are ready, we will go. We are going to drop you 
on the way. Dr. May has an hour to spare and 
is coming with me to the French Hospital to visit 
Bonnat, — you know poor old Bonnat, Jean? ” 

“ Your dear, ladylike old man who wears his 
pride like a last year’s bonnet? Well? ” 

“ My dear, you know you like him,” reproved 
Daniel. “ But I have told the doctor he will find 
him a hard case.” 

“ An interesting one, from all accounts,” ob- 
served Philip, moving toward the door as if to 


84 


HEIRS OP YESTERDAY 


hurry them. “ Nothing arouses my egotism more 
than the hope of overcoming other people’s failures 
— or Bonnats.” 

Daniel helped his niece with her wrap. “ But,” 
hesitated the girl, distantly. “ I really don’t care 
to inconvenience Dr. May. Mollie will walk to 
Laura’s with me.” 

“ It will be no inconvenience,” he assured her, in 
surprise, holding the portiere aside. “ Although 
my hurrying you off in this fashion robs your uncle 
of his usual concert.” 

“Your father has been telling tales,” she re- 
turned, pleasantly formal, walking with him to 
the door. 

“ No — the walls.” 

“ I forgot I had a critic on the other side. Next 
time I shall play pianissimo.” 

“ Wouldn’t that be selfish? ” 

“ But everybody is selfish.” 

“ In degrees.” 

“ And with exceptions. Witness somebody wait- 
ing out here on the steps for me. Ugh, how dark 
and cold it is! ” 

The bitter fog drove straight in their faces on the 
icy breath of the keen March wind as he closed the 
door behind them. They joined Daniel Willard 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


85 


waiting for them at the foot of the steps. Jean 
slipped her hand through her uncle’s arm, and they 
turned southward, down the hill. They walked 
briskly, their steps ringing sharp on the asphalt. 
The gas in the street lamps flared wildly, making 
grotesque shadows of the tall, hurrying figures 
with the fluttering drapery of the girl between. 

“ I like it,” she laughed, when Philip protested 
against the tug of war between hill and wind. “ I’ve 
been raised on it. It’s like getting on in spite of 
things — and I’d think it lots of fun if it didn’t take 
uncle’s breath away.” 

“ Hot at all,” repudiated Daniel, drawing himself 
up to a straighter perpendicular. “ I have not been 
speaking because it is foolish to fill one’s lungs with 
the fog. Am I not right, Doctor? ” 

The latter met the girl’s merry eye with a twin- 
kle of his own before assuring the old gentleman of 
the wisdom of his caution. “ Although,” he add- 
ed, “ I’ve been told it is accountable for the famous 
complexions of the women of the city. So it com- 
pensates itself gallantly.” 

“ Yes, we’re all radiant,” said Jean, turning up 
her own creamy colorlessness for his inspection, 
“ and all wild and woolly. Please take notice that, 
despite her fearlessness, a girl with only two blocks 


86 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


to walk at night is punctiliously provided with an 
escort. But, with due exaggeration admitted for 
art’s sake, surely only the blind would fail to re- 
mark our beautiful women.” 

“ Everything is in the eye of the observer,” 
laughed Philip, equivocally, glancing down at her. 
“ Some people are beauty-blind, you know. And 
standards differ — and no one is the measure of all 
things. Remember the ass who preferred his this- 
tle to gold.” 

“ Happy ass,” murmured Jean. 

“ Most asses are happy,” he vouchsafed. 

“ Being stupid?” she suggested. 

“Being satisfied,” he returned, shortly. Then 
suddenly remembering that he detested any dis- 
play of self through word or tone, he drew rein, 
surprised at his slight lapse under the girl’s lovely 
eyes. 

They stopped presently before an imposing 
house. 

“ Good night,” she said, putting up both hands 
to turn up her uncle’s coat-collar. “ Don’t bother 
to come up the steps, dear.” She held out a frank 
hand to Dr. May. “I’m glad Uncle Joseph has 
you back,” she said ? swiftly. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


87 


“ Good night/’ he returned, courteously, taking 
her hand and raising his hat. 

The next minute she had run up the steps and 
rung the bell. As they waited while she stood just 
beneath the flickering lantern, holding her long 
gray wrap about her, her face showing fitfully in 
the wavering light, Philip’s critical eye paid reluc- 
tant homage to her personality. She disappeared 
abruptly as in a well of light, and the two men 
turned toward the Sacramento Street cars. 

A delicious sense of warm luxury greeted her. 
She walked slowly through the stately hall and up 
the broad, familiar staircase, as directed, oblivious 
for once to the harmony of rugs and hangings and 
deep-toned walls. Pained over the vague yet in- 
dubitable reserve with which Philip May had met 
her, scorning herself for what she had expected 
merely on the score of her friendship with his 
father, glad of the thought that he was kind — 
spreading the glow of his going to poor old Bonnat 
into a sort of halo over his coldly intellectual as- 
pect — •“ for kindness,” she argued, as though apol- 
ogizing for his apostasy, “is as good a working 
creed as any in this hungry, workaday world ” — 
lost in her chaotic abstractions, she reached her 
friend’s boudoir before she realized it. 


88 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


A tall, handsome young woman, crowned with a 
mass of golden hair, absorbed in applying the last 
daub of powder to her nose, threw down her hand- 
glass at her approach and came gayly toward her. 

“ Oh,” she said, delightedly, “ I’m so glad you’ve 
come early — now we can have a few words together 
before we go down. How do you look? What have 
you on?” She was hurriedly unfastening the 
girl’s wrap while she spoke. 

“ Just the old white thing,” replied Jean, in sur- 
prise. “ You said no one would be here but Paul 
Stein, and that we three would have a good old talk 
together, your lord being due at his club.” 

“ Yes, I know. But I was afraid you had come 
in a shirt-waist, or something of that sort.” 

“ Suppose I had? Paul doesn’t count — but I 
felt like looking nice to-night, hence my festive 
appearance in this old rag.” 

“ The old rag was an inspiration, and you look 
lovely. Don’t stare at me as if I were daft. The 
fact is, Jean — would you have come to dine with 
us to-night if I had rung you up rather late? ” 

“ I don’t know. Why? ” 

“ Well, Charlie sent me word he was going to 
bring some one home to dinner, but as I wasn’t in 
— . Sit down there.” She pressed her into a chair. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


89 


“ I believe you are positively excited over some- 
thing,” murmured Jean, eying her with curiosity. 

Laura laughed and seated herself near her. “ To 
tell the truth,” she began, half jestingly, half judi- 
cially, the color sweeping over her rose-tinted 
cheeks — then she stopped. “ J ean,” she essayed 
again, wholly earnest now, “ do you think I care 
for you? ” 

“ Laura,” repeated Jean, in exaggerated solem- 
nity, “ do you think I care for you? You are be- 
ginning to frighten me.” 

“ Because you frighten me. I don’t know how 
to begin — you are so different on some points from 
other girls. Well, then, Ted Hart is down in the 
billard-room with Charlie.” 

“ Indeed! One of the gold-incrusted Harts?” 

“ Yes; the bachelor.” 

“ I thought he lived in the East, or abroad, or 
somewhere.” 

“ He does, but he is visiting his business inter- 
ests on this coast and, incidentally, his brothers.” 

“ Well, what do you want me to do about it? Does 
he threaten your peace? Is that why you ran 
upstairs? ” 

“ Ho; I was waiting for you. I wanted to ask 
you to be — amiable to him.” 


90 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ What a libel! Am I not always amiable? ” 

“ No; and yon know you’re not. If a man doesn’t 
just happen to come up to your demands you can 
freeze him into an icicle.” 

“ Thanks. It doesn’t sound pretty, but it isn’t 
true. I only treat a man according to his preten- 
sions. But what is the matter with poor Mr. 
Hart? ” 

“ There! You are going to be difficult to-night. 
I know it — I feel it.” 

Jean laughed softly, amusedly. “ You have no 
idea how hard and ordinary those violet eyes of 
yours look just now,” she said, slowly. “ Just let 
that match burn out of them, Laura — and drop it.” 

“ There are millions in it, Jean.” 

“ That sounds like an echo of your husband.” 

“Yes,” Laura agreed, with a slight laugh. 
“ Charlie is rather blunt. Perhaps you prefer the 
more poetic. Then why not ‘take the cash and 
let the credit go ’ — although — ” 

“ Don’t get any deeper in the mire of figures, I 
beg of you. Think of calling a man Cash! ” 

“ I was thinking more of the credit, Miss Inde- 
pendence.” 

“ And what is that, pray? My beggarly little 
bank-book? ” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


91 


“ Ho — the even smaller one, the invisible 
account we all hold against Fate, the banker of 
dreams, who loses all we have in mad speculation, 
and when we come clamoring for our own — 
behold closed doors.” 

“ Listen, Laura. Don’t I hear the children’s 
voices?” The quiet tone restored Laura Brook- 
man to a sudden consciousness of undue intensity. 
They were both pale, but the older woman laughed 
the emotion away. 

“ I was actually reading you a sermon, wasn’t 
I? ” she said, rising with the girl. “ Yes, the chil- 
dren are waiting to kiss you good night.” 

Whatever the cause of her agitation, Mrs. Brook- 
man was happiness incarnate when they left the 
nursery a few minutes later. When the two friends 
went downstairs together she was pleased to turn 
her little venture at matchmaking into a merry 
jest. 

“ They have gone into the library,” she said, as 
the sound of men’s voices reached them. 

“ Is that the voice of Cash?” whispered Jean. 
“ Its sound is unfamiliar to me. I recognize Paul’s 
and—” 

"Wait a minute — who is that? Why, it’s that 
Yi<? D^vis. He must have come in with Paul 


92 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


Each favored the other with a little grimace of 
distaste. 

They entered through the drawing-room. As 
Mr. Brookman caught sight of them from his posi- 
tion among the group before the blazing open fire- 
place, he lounged good-naturedly toward them. 
Good nature seemed the keynote to the man — it 
exuded, as it were, from every inch of his prosper- 
ous-looking, lazy figure and stout, florid face. He 
called his wife’s friend “Jeanie” in loud-voiced 
jocularity, and at any time would have gladly 
played at making love to her; but she called him 
“ Mr. Brookman,” in pleasant friendliness, and he 
never got any further than a foolish killing glance 
or two. 

Jean was introduced to the stranger, a quiet- 
mannered man, whose keen yet kindly eyes were 
the only good feature in a face marked with the 
wear and tear of opportunity enjoyed. 

“ The tonne touche last,” said Paul Stein, a tall, 
slender man of thirty-five or thereabout, upon 
whose plain, thin, clever features the rough hand 
of life had left harsh manuscript. He put out an 
imperious hand to J ean. “ Here’s a warm place — 
come and share it.” 

“No, I see my favorite chair in that corner. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


93 


But you can talk to me just as comfortably from a 
distance.” 

“ I am never distant with you if I can help it,” 
he said, pushing a hassock toward her, hut pausing 
to shake hands with Mrs. Brookman before seating 
himself. “ Yic Been making his apologies for com- 
ing?” he asked, glancing good-humoredly at the 
vivid-faced, eagle-nosed young fellow behind her. 

“ She refuses to accept them,” the latter 
retorted, extending a deferential hand to Jean, 
“ although I assured her I never would have ven- 
tured in if the wind hadn’t been so pressing.” 

“ Mr. Davis has not called upon me since the 
day I refused to give him my hand,” laughed Laura, 
sinking upon the couch and inviting the unex- 
pected guest to the place beside her. 

“ What’s that? ” exclaimed Brookman, in mock 
suspicion, from the depths of the great arm-chair, 
where he had gulfed himself into a shapeless heap. 
“ Is there a skeleton in my closet? ” 

“ I only asked for her palm,” soothed Davis, 
“ thinking it might make good reading matter. 
But she was too superstitious to let me see it.” 

“ Superstitious! If I had been superstitious I 
would have begged you to read it at once. There 
isn’t a suspicion of superstition in me.” 


94 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ But,” drawled her husband, “ she won’t make 
one of thirteen at table or — ” 

“ That’s a good Christian superstition,” 
observed Paul, indulgently. 

“ I know a man,” retorted Laura, glancing 
toward her husband, “ who, every morning before 
going downtown to earn his children’s bread and 
butter, prays, ‘ Lord, deliver me from the evil eye 
of a yellow dog.’ ” 

“ All J ews are superstitious,” quietly remarked 
Hart, from where he stood toasting himself before 
the blazing log. 

“ Every one is,” supplemented Paul, “ and 
every one denies it. The Jews, if anything, are 
less so than any other race. We’re too material, 
you know, too practical — we’ve had the dream 
knocked out of us.” 

“ Why, there, Paul, you and my uncle are alto- 
gether at outs. He says, ‘ While the Jew stands, 
his dream stands.’ ” 

“ Oh, when the Chevalier says that, Jean, he is 
arguing from the Messianic hypothesis. He’s 
romantic. We evolutionists have got over that — 
evolutions, like millenniums, being slow work.” 

“ Exactly. That is just what he says — we 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


95 


haven’t outgrown all our weaknesses yet. Although 
he doesn’t call dreaming a weakness.” 

“ Of course he doesn’t — for every Jewish weak- 
ness he has an excuse. He is loyal as he is learned.” 

“ Once a Jew always a J ew,” remarked Brook- 
man, as though settling the question. 

“ That’s where you’re dead off, Brookman,” 
exclaimed young Davis, with a knowing laugh. 
“ Do any of you happen to know Phil May — or, 
rather, Philip May, M. D., Ph. D. — and any other 
D in the alphabet you happen to think of? ” 

“ Do you mean the English artist, or the young 
American physician, Dr. Philip May? ” asked Hart, 
with interest. 

“ The American. But surgeon suits him better, 
I understand.” 

“ Yes, I believe it does. He treated me last year 
at Baden Baden. A fine-looking man — wears a 
short, dark, pointed beard. But I didn’t take him 
for a Jew.” 

“ Ha, ha! that last hits him off capitally. He 
has made quite a record for himself in the cutting 
business since his return here.” 

“ I met Dr. May to-night,” J ean hastened to 
inform them. “He is the son of my uncle’s old 


96 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


friend, Mr. Joseph May. I had not heard of any 
wonderful operation of his in this town/’ 

Davis threw hack his head in a paroxysm of 
laughter. “ That’s one on you. Miss Willard,” he 
cried. “ What! You haven’t heard of that already 
celebrated cutting affray of his on Kearney Street 
last Saturday night?” 

“ Cutting affray? ” 

"Let’s have it, Vic,” exclaimed Brookman, 
voicing the contagion of the young fellow’s evident 
excitement. 

“ It’s not a long story. You know Sam Weiss? ” 

“ Yes.” The affirmation was unanimous — they 
all knew the song-and-dance amateur. 

“ Do you agree with me that he’s an all-round 
good fellow — give the coat off his hack for a friend 
— and all the rest of the cardinal virtues ? ” 

“ Sure,” said Brookman, seriously. He was apt 
to indorse all Davis’s tastes and sentiments. The 
women were silent. 

“ Well, it seems he and Phil May were school- 
mates once upon a time, and as intimate as May’s 
peculiar oysterdom and royal loneliness permitted. 
Sam has always taken great stock in May’s success 
— felt as though he had had a hand in it in some 
occult way, and was delighted over the thought 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


97 


that his old chum was coming to settle here. Well, 
last Saturday night, as you can imagine, he was 
tickled to death to come upon him at the corner of 
Market and Kearney streets.” 

By some inexplicable attraction, the animated 
dark eyes had come to rest upon Jean Willard’s 
attentive face, and to her he addressed the story 
of the short encounter in his own terse, slangy 
expressiveness. “ Gave him the glassy eye, you 
understand,” he concluded, with a shrug, “ in the 
full electric light and gaze of two of Weiss’s 
friends.” 

“ Yes,” said Jean, quickly, before the disgusted 
expressions on the faces of the others could find 
vent in words. “ But that remark about Moses — 
wasn’t it rather far-fetched ? ” 

Davis looked at her pityingly. " Joseph May 
kept a clothing store in days of gold,” he explained, 
concisely. “ But Weiss is only a case in point. 
Dr. May has been pleased to state his attitude in 
unmistakable terms of frost to several other Jews 
of former acquaintance — and — mark my words — 
he won’t have to wait till the long run to hear from 
them in return. I don’t happen to be honored with 
his acquaintance, but just as an expression of opin- 
ion, I’d like to — kick — kick — him — from — here — 


98 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


to — Jerusalem! ” The clan spirit was up in arms. 
His loud, frank voice had sunk with the last words 
to a peculiar, slow quietude. ' 

“ Save him the trouble of rolling there on resur- 
rection day, eh?” laughed Brookman, approv- 
ingly. “ But what’s the matter with him? Strikes 
me we’re as good as the next ones. What’s want- 
ing? Look at me. Look at my wife — look at my 
children. We’ve as good as the country affords. 
Who has a finer home — who’s better dressed, better 
fed, hey? My son will have all the education he’s 
fit for and my daughter all the accomplishments 
going — if she wants ’em. We help support the the- 
aters and operas, and help liberally, by Jove! We 
travel, enjoy our money and ourselves — and let 
others enjoy our money as well. Where’s the kick? ” 

He basked broadly in the sun of his prosperity. 
A great, genial satisfaction shone from him as he 
spread his hands on the arms of his handsome chair. 
A bright spot of flame sprang to his wife’s cheek. 
Her eyes and lips smiled non-committally — she 
made no comment. 

“Oh, you forgot,” laughed Paul, “that when 
Jeshurun waxes fat, he kicks. Dr. May is only a 
modern example. He has evidently weighed the 
pros and cons of the situation, and given himself 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 99 


over to the heavy-weight. Taking a Dreyfus on 
Devil’s Island as a basis for action — who can blame 
him? ” 

“ By God! ” exclaimed Brookman, raising his fist 
to heaven. The exclamation had no bearing upon 
Philip May — it was but the suffocated protest 
against the crime of a nation over which the heart 
of every reading Jew was bursting with bitter 
indignation. 

“ Of course, I don’t know your Mr. Weiss,” inter- 
posed Mr. Hart, after an eloquent pause, “ but I do 
know Dr. May, and I can readily imagine his not 
relishing being slapped on the shoulder by certain 
people — to say nothing, figuratively speaking, of a 
certain style of voice. But that doesn’t prove he 
has drawn the line at all Jews. He is far too sensi- 
ble.” 

"And one swallow does not make a summer,” 
suggested Laura, gently. 

“ I told you Weiss is only one of many,” reiter- 
ated Davis, hotly. “ And, among other tales, I 
have heard that old man May told some fellow 
that it will be impossible for his son to join the 
Verein, or any other club, for that matter.” 

“NellicJi” murmured Brookman, with a sor- 
rowful shake of the head. 


LofC. 


100 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ Don’t you think,” began J ean, very quietly, 
“ that we judge too quickly where our proverbial 
sensitiveness is concerned? If Philip May has seen 
fit to act as Mr. Davis says he has, how do we know 
what he has in view? How do we know what ambi- 
tion or ambitions are leading him, and how old ties 
may hamper him? His social standards and tastes 
are not necessarily the same as ours. His accom- 
plishments and wit may have traveled beyond a 
coon-song or an Orpheum joke — they may even 
fail to see the point in those diverting Jewish 
stories in Puck and other witty periodicals. Do 
we know all his life holds? May there not be a pas- 
sage in his which might explain — excuse — not only 
a distaste, but a hatred of all Jews? Isn’t life full 
of unthought-of possibilities? Must we still con- 
tinue not only to judge, but to condemn, everybody 
according to our own little lights? ” 

As she made her low-voiced plea for the develop- 
ment of individuality at any cost, Laura eyed her 
curiously. 

“ Come, come, J ean,” drawled Paul Stein, iron- 
ically, “ how can you waste so much good interest 
on a fellow who has such a low opinion of his breed- 
ing that he has quit bowing to himself? My dear 
girl, we don’t need Philip May.” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


101 


“ I was speaking in the abstract,” lied the girl, 
glibly. “ But as to needing him, Paul — you spoke 
differently last week. Why, he was to be a sort of 
representative, an edition de luxe, the Jewish chef- 
d’oeuvre of San Francisco; you were so anxious to 
meet him — he was going to be such a stimulus! ” 

The attorney looked at her musingly. “ Yes,” 
he said. “ I had read one or two of his articles in 
medical reviews and was captivated by the virility 
of the man’s style, concluding that the style was the 
man. It seems I was mistaken. Unfortunately, 
I have not yet attained the Christian humility of 
turning the second cheek. I have this minute dis- 
covered that there is a rather strong party spirit 
in me, and I can’t, in all consciousness, try as I 
may, assume the brilliant, disinterested amusement 
of laughing stars high out of the heart of life. But 
Philip May is only a result of existing conditions, 
a sign of the times — set upon a height. He is not 
a type — he is only one of those inevitable, recurrent 
figures, dominant and bitter, pitting himself against 
fate in vain. The thing is, what does he want, 
will he get it, is the game worth the candle? 

“ Oh, among ourselves we know that individu- 
ally, feature for feature, we are all beautiful” — he 
grinned benignly upon them — “ but outside, among 


102 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


others, en masse, our tout-ensemble! — oh, my chil- 
dren! ” He covered his face with his sinewy hand. 
A laugh of responsive understanding encouraged 
him further. 

“ And we can laugh, nevertheless,” he granted 
them, “ because we know that, inwardly, we’re the 
right stuff, good backbone stuff, which it would 
be folly to eliminate from the civic anatomy. 
How’s that for fairness, Mr. Hart? ” 

“ Not had. Go ahead. Diagnose us.” 

“ Oh, talk, though cheap, is often extravagant,” 
laughed Paul. “ But I like to splurge in that line 
once in a while, and can afford it — if you can afford 
the listening. Of course, we know the ignominies 
of the past against which we are still combating: 
that to-day we excuse ourselves on the score of 
being descendants, often to the exclusion of the 
more vital responsibility that to-day will he yes- 
terday to-morrow, and that some day we will be 
ancestors. But we know, besides, the wheels 
within wheels — we know there are gradations. We 
don’t judge every rich Jew by the first flamboyant, 
gold-congested parvenu we happen to meet in his 
mansion on the heights, nor every poor Jew by the 
ignorant, sing-songing old clo’ man south of Mar- 
ket Street. We even admit that if, now and then, 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 103 


the one on the top were to exchange places with the 
one at the bottom it would be a good game of puss- 
in-the-comer. But think of cramming all Jewry 
— think of cramming one complex Jewish soul into 
an epigram! Why, we bulge over and out of every 
part of it. And yet, to some people, Judaism 
still means an old man who speaks gibberish, wears 
a beard and a praying -shawl, and whose golden rule 
is ‘ Do others or others will do you/ ” 

“ By J ove,” cried Davis, approvingly, “ we’re 
not such an uninteresting lot, after all.” 

“ Oh, you’re the sort that likes to be sugared 
over and swallowed whole in audible contentment,” 
laughed Paul, sarcastically. “ Few J ews can stand 
adverse criticism, and that’s what keeps so many of 
them from taking on the little outward graces that 
count for so much. But don’t imagine I think 
we’ve cornered the brain and virtue market of the 
world. We’re first-rate students because no power 
on earth can beat us in that intensity of purpose — 
born of the old-time restriction — of doing the best 
we can with our only unfilchable property — our 
brains; we are great financiers through enforced 
specialization; we are thrifty and industrious 
because we’ve had to fight for every right of posses- 
sion inch by inch ; we care for our poor as no other 


104 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


poor are cared for, because we were once one in 
misery, because we can’t climb effectually without 
pulling our weaker ones up with us, and because 
it was only on the condition that the Jewish poor 
would not become a burden on the community that 
the Jews were first granted settlement in the New 
World. I can laugh good-naturedly enough, Jean, 
over the wit of Puck’s stories when our shrewdness, 
or features, or mannerisms are the point of ridicule. 
I’m not like the cultured Irishman who sets his 
teeth at the sight of printed brogue — but when it 
comes to libeling our honesty and labeling the race 
with certain low-down propensities, I draw the line. 
We’ve had enough of tradition. Yet, you see, all 
our civic virtues lie rooted in some hard, grim, ugly 
fact, and I agree with Dr. May — the looking-back 
vision is not pretty — the harking-back accent is not 
musical. But though I too would cover it over, 
would say ‘hush’ to it, the very knowledge of 
the cause of its ugliness would make me say it in 
another tone than that of shame.” He paused with 
quivering nostril and compressed lip. 

“I did not think you cared so much for your 
religion,” said Jean, a great wave of emotion thrill- 
ing her voice strangely. 

“ Neither did I.” He smiled wearily. “ But it’s 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 105 


no longer a matter of religion— think of a man’s 
religious thoughts having anything to do with his 
success or non-success in this material age! No, 
it’s something more tragic — it’s a matter of race — 
and there is no way out of that except by the slow 
honeymoon route of intermarriage. Well? Queer 
how these forces lie silent in one, covered over by 
the day’s battle.” 

“ That’s no fairy-tale,” agreed Davis, in hearty 
seriousness. “For my part, being a Jew doesn’t 
bother me much the year round, except when New 
Year’s or Atonement Day comes along, and we 
have to close up shop.” 

“ But there’s one little cynicism of yours I wish 
you would qualify, Paul,” interposed Jean, ear- 
nestly, “ and that is your remark about the virtue 
of the race. Surely you know there are no happier 
homes in the world than Jewish homes, and that 
fact usually bespeaks virtue.” 

“ There’s that sweet tooth again,” Paul returned, 
reproachfully. “ Of course we’re a temperate lot 
— even at the lowest pitch we don’t drink, or beat 
our wives. But omitting the many love-matches — 
God bless ’em! — when you come to think of the 
many others, the mercenary and manufactured 
ones, in which the girls are supposed to love the 


106 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


men they’re told to love — surely you don’t still 
cherish that beautiful, primitive dream of univer- 
sal peace, happiness and fidelity? ” 

“That sounds interesting,” said Hart, pulling 
up a chair finally, and seating himself in a leaning 
attitude of rapt attention. 

“But the insinuation is not true,” combated 
J ean, flashing round upon him, overwhelming him 
in the sudden passion of her eyes. “ Ninety-nine 
and a half Jewish marriages out of a hundred arc 
happy and — and honorable.” 

“ Bravo! But how about that half case? ” ques- 
tioned Paul, quietly. 

“ Something keeps it from becoming a whole 
case” was the swift, fearless, pure-eyed response. 

“Indeed? What?” murmured Paul, smiling 
gently. 

“Ask Mr. and Mrs. Brookman,” cried Davis. 
“ They should make pretty reliable witnesses.” 

Brookman shook a reproving finger at him. 
“ We belong to the God bless ’em crowd,” he said, 
comfortably. 

Mrs. Brookman laughed lightly. 

“However, Mr. Brookman,” broke in Jean, 
playfully, feeling a certain tension in the turn of 
subject, “tell us why a Jewess, even without the 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 107 


grand passion as a nucleus, always loves the man 
she marries.” 

“ Because her mamma tells her to,” laughed the 
great, good-natured fellow, with supreme satisfac- 
tion. 

“ And, Laura, how about the man? Why does 
a Jew always love his wife? ” 

“ From an inherited, unconquerable sense of 
duty.” The caustic flippancy drew a laugh. Brook- 
man gallantly returned her a military salute. 

“ Not bad, so far as they go,” remarked Stein, 
abruptly. “ But, merely as a looker-on, might I 
say, supposing your conclusions to be true — she 
loves him, finally, because he is the father of her 
children, and he loves her because she is his — his 
property, I mean.” 

The brutal words stilled the air. 

“Jean, will you play for us?” Laura Brook- 
man’s light voice broke the scarcely perceptible 
awkwardness. 

The girl arose at once, Stein following her leis- 
urely to the piano. 

“ You are hateful to-night,” she vouchsafed him 
in a low voice as she seated herself and he leaned 
against the instrument. 


108 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ You are inharmonious to-night/’ he retorted. 
“ I detected it as soon as you came in.” 

She ceased to look at his provoking face. Her 
fingers ran over the keys. 

“ I can’t play/’ she said after a minute, letting 
her hands fall into her lap. 

“ You can’t, but you will,” he said. 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“ I mean you always do — you always believe, 
even — in spite of things. Isn’t that your hercu- 
lean motto? Then play.” 

She began, her eyes upon his thin, plain face. 
Then she forgot him and played on. 

“What is it?” he murmured, when her hands 
rested, carried away, despite his disturbed mood, by 
the exquisite grace and mystery of the music. 

“ A poem of Macdowell’s. Perhaps afterward, 
Laura,” she said, turning her head in answer. “ Ask 
Mr. Davis to sing a coon-song for us, will you, 
Paul? ” 

“ What! after your little flip at the coon-singing 
genus? ” 

“ I didn’t.” The girl flushed distressfully. “ I 
couldn’t — besides I like them — the songs — too 
much.” 

“ You could and you did. On impulse you can 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 109 


do anything, friend o’ mine. But don’t torture 
your sensitive conscience — you haven’t hurt him. 
He belongs to the breed that always thinks you’re 
pointing to the fellow behind. Ask him, and prove 
me.” 

He came delightedly, flattered by the request, 
singing song after song to her swinging accom- 
paniment with all the jubilant rhythm, the 
peculiar darky joy, which make the coon-song so 
unmistakably a song of color, not omitting sev- 
eral inimitable cake-walk steps, as though his feet 
must, perforce, respond to the charm. 

He swung off finally, and J ean found Theodore 
Hart leaning on the piano in Paul Stein’s place. 
He spoke of music — he had heard much — tenta- 
tively watching her face. Jean questioned him 
carelessly, unaccountably annoyed over the fact 
that the man’s eyes and ears were frankly absorbed 
in her. She knew that Charlie Brookman and Yic 
Davis were holding a laughing chat in. the corner, 
that Laura and Paul Stein were seated together on 
the couch, evidently talking fitfully, the former 
gazing before her, her elbow crushed in the pillow 
behind, the latter bent upon disentangling a piece 
of cord fantastically twisted about his fingers. 


110 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


Their attitudes disturbed her indefinably. The evi- 
dent admiration of the man near her irritated her. 

“You are a champion worth having,” he was 
saying. “Your views are broad — broader than 
most women’s.” 

Broad! When she had been narrowing them to 
fit the case of one man! She stared at him coldly. 
Yes, Paul was right — she appeared and felt inhar- 
monious. 

She was glad, a little later, to find herself on the 
street alone with Stein, glad of his uncompromising 
silence. The wind had abated, the fog was dis- 
sipated, the air was crisp and bracing, the stars 
twinkled in cold brilliance. The two friends 
climbed the hills with long, quick strides, inti- 
mately still. 


CHAPTER VII 


Thus did Philip May set about defying and 
humbugging tradition, the present— and himself. 
He was young, he was strong, he was free — he 
acknowledged no overlord but his own will and 
inclination. The adverse past he simply kicked off 
as a man might a pair of shoes grown shabby or 
uncomfortable, the only apparent obstacle to his 
consequent comfort being his frequent stumblings 
against the discarded in unconsidered places. 

During the first two weeks following the memo- 
rable evening of his return and the anti-climax of 
the wordless reconciliation between his father and 
himself, he found little time for introspection or 
politic forethought. His professional reputation 
had preceded him through his writings, and chance, 
in the form of mischance for others, came to greet 
him. Dr. Otis, succumbing to a contingency of the 
grip, was forced to put his patients and himself in 
other hands — whereby two of the most critical 
operations of his experience fell to Philip May’s 
account. The fortunate victims happened to be 

hi 


112 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


men prominent in the city’s doings, and the fame of 
the newcomer’s hand of steel might have spread 
sensationally, had not the young physician’s pro- 
fessional reticence saved him from that indignity of 
popular quackery. He was used to success, and 
dismissed it with matter-of-fact brevity. 

Virtually, however, it was not to be thus dis- 
missed. The personal attraction of the man 
brought his name too easily to the lips of those 
with whom he came in contact. Lilian Otis, wel- 
coming him, not only as the devoted friend and 
attendant of her cousin, John Harleigh, but as 
one of the most abiding memories of her last Euro- 
pean jaunt, gladly added these later credentials 
after presenting him or his name to the inner court 
of her charming and influential set. Within a 
month he felt his grasp firm upon the life upon 
which he had entered. 

With a single exception: he had effectually 
barred himself out of the proud, silent heart of his 
father. Nominally drawn together under the same 
roof, they were more grimly estranged than they 
had been when divided by a continent and sea. Any 
effort toward the simplest converse was strained 
and painful. Philip felt the lack of intimacy, but 
recognized it as another insurmountable proof of 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 113 


their being kindred only through accident of birth. 
J oseph May, exponent of the most intense and sen- 
sitive race under the sun in the matter of family 
ties, crushed his knowledge into the bitter pill of 
lovelessness, and chewed it, folding his lips close 
over the bitterness in that wildest of all misery — 
misery which keeps its mouth shut. Even Daniel 
Willard heard no further word of complaint or 
reproach. His talk of him was full of boast and 
bluster. 

“ Never he gives himself any rest,” he said, 
with a helpless shrug of indulgent pride. “ When 
he don’t go nights to the hospital, he writes or 
studies, and when he don’t write nor study he has 
a call to make, or something like that. Last night 
he wanted I should take a walk with him. But 
what for? I was tired, and better he goes with 
younger men. But he likes it when Jean plays. 
One night he most broke his appointment because 
he waited till she finished.” 

“ I shall ask him to dine with us Sedar night,” 
said Daniel, dealing the cards in absent fashion. 
“ I have not seen so much of him as I should like, 
and that will be a good chance. We shall have no 
one but Mr. and Mrs. Brookman and Paul Stein, 
and you two. Then he can ask Jean to play what- 


114 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


ever he likes — after the singing is over. Do you 
think he will come, Joseph? ” 

“You can ask him. — Forty kings — a tierce to 
the jack. — Jean is a nix-nuts . Never she comes 
to see me no more.” 

“No?” said Daniel, discarding as if in deep 
thought. “ She is a little busy with the Boys’ 
Club. Particularly with one of the boys — little 
Joel Slinsky. You should see some of the drawings 
he makes of the people of his neighborhood — 
unconscious caricatures of the Russian Jew. But 
to me it is not all funny. Jean does not mean 
to neglect you; she asks how you are feeling every 
day.” 

“ So,” commented J oseph. But in some man- 
ner, too subtle for his defining, he knew that the 
sudden ceasing of the girl’s unceremonious comings 
and goings had coincided with the advent of his 
son. And another dream was laid aside with his 
broken potsherds. 

And Jean, during the two or three weeks fol- 
lowing her evening with the Brookmans, had been 
quietly, though uncertainly, divorcing herself from 
the same romance. Final proof of his positive 
alienation was still wanting, and a loyal spirit 
breaks its idols slowly. But her days were occu- 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 115 


pied with her customary obligations and pleasures, 
many self-imposed, many necessary, and she 
allowed herself no quarter for a morbid sentiment. 
Stephen Forrest was harassing her with impor- 
tunate letters, so passionately pleading against her 
dogged stand, so ironically hitter against his lim- 
ited opportunities, so humorously humble, that 
sympathy was playing hall with her resolution. 

Besides, the gods were with her, for the moment, 
in giving her another Nemesis to contend with. 
Theodore Hart, who, before meeting her, had lived 
all things hut a pure passion, had been suddenly, 
surprisingly, overwhelmed by that novelty and 
given himself wholly to its influence. With all his 
intentions written openly in his attentions, in the 
good, old-fashioned Jewish way, he had come to 
tempt her from her moorings. He represented the 
carnival, the luxe of life — he represented to her 
clear-eyed, end-of-the-nineteenth-century knowl- 
edge, all gifts — save one. And in the material sun- 
light of the end of the century he easily stood for 
a temptation. 

In withdrawing from her pretty old-time inti- 
macy with Joseph May, she had not forgotten that 
it would hurt and astonish him, but she was deter- 
mined to risk no running against Philip May’s cour- 


11G HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


teous surprise should he happen upon her innocent 
familiarity with his household. 

However, pulling down a blind one morning 
before setting out for town, she espied her old 
friend pacing the safe back porch in smoking-jacket 
and velvet skull-cap, and she was down upon him 
in a minute. 

“ Good morning, IJncle Joseph,” she sang out, 
blithely; “ why aren’t you down at your office this 
sunny morning? ” 

The stocky figure stopped short. “Good morn- 
ing, Miss Willard,” he returned, with biting dig- 
nity. “ I am surprised you still know me.” 

“ Miss Willard, indeed, old humbug! Aren’t you 
ashamed of yourself? Kiss me and tell me why 
you are still at home at half-past ten? ” 

He submitted his forehead to her imperious 
caress. “ I have a little headache,” he explained, 
with an unintentional sigh, “ and my son said bet- 
ter I don’t go to the office. I telephoned your 
uncle when there is any important mail he shall 
come up with it.” 

“Is there anything I can do for you in town? 
I have some shopping to do and — . But there is 
IJncle Daniel now.” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


117 


He came hurriedly out of Joseph’s doorway, a 
look of concern furrowing his brow. 

“ Feeling a little lazy this morning, Joseph?” 
he asked, brightly, laying his arm across the stoop- 
ing shoulders. 

“ Oh, so-so. Nothing to speak about; hut when 
you have a doctor in the house always you can find 
a little pain. What you got there, Daniel?” 

“ Only a catalogue of the sale of the Powers 
estate.” He handed him the booklet. “ Well, 
Jean, have you and Joseph been making up? ” 

“ He calls me Miss Willard,” she answered, in 
mock despair, “ and is altogether very proud and 
haughty. But if he doesn’t behave, he can’t come 
to our dinner party, can he. Uncle Daniel? ” 

“ What dinner party? ” asked the old man, 
smoothing her hand as it lay upon his arm. “ You 
know I don’t go to dinner parties.” 

“ But considering that you come every year 
to—” 

“ Oh, you mean the Sedar. When it is, Daniel?” 

At that moment the door giving upon the porch 
was again hastily opened and Philip May appeared 
upon the threshold. 

“ Don’t let me startle you,” be laughed, coming 


118 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


out, as his father rose nervously from the settee. 
“ Nothing is wrong, father. I have just remem- 
bered that I forgot to tell Katie about a box of 
books that is coming for me. How is your head? ” 
He stood beside him, an attractive, manly figure, 
hat in hand. Jean leaned against the box of 
mignonette on the rail, clasping her gloves. 

“ It is still a little heavy,” returned Joseph, 
reseating himself. “ But that will go soon.” 

“ With the morning — if you keep quiet. By the 
way, Mr. Willard, I have intended dropping in 
upon you some evening, but have not yet found the 
opportunity. Fm glad of the chance of telling you 
Fm coming, just the same.” He smiled, winningly 
holding out a hand. 

“ I understand,” returned Daniel, without a 
trace of resentment. “ But we were just asking 
your father to dine with us on the second of next 
month in the hope that you would come too.” 

“ The second — second — . I should be delighted, 
but it seems to me something was said about that 
date.” He pressed his hand to his brow. “Ah, 
yes,” his eyes lightened. “ Otis — an engagement 
made a month ago. Well, I am truly sorry, but if I 
can break away, I’ll drop in upon you during the 
evening. Next Tuesday, isn’t it? I shall not for- 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 119 


get. Good morning. Good morning, Miss Wil- 
lard.” The next minute he had passed through the 
doorway, an utter stranger to the girl. 

“ You did not say whether I could get anything 
for you in town, Uncle Joseph,” she resumed, com- 
ing toward the two old gentlemen, the pretty note 
of her voice slightly strained. And then she 
noticed that the catalogue in the dark-veined hands 
was waving as if in a violent wind, that the heavy 
eyes were raised apologetically to her, seeking to 
cry down some unspeakable pain. 

“Will you ask Katie?” he returned, slowly, 
speaking correctly, as he sometimes did when under 
stress of a relentless spur. “ She said something to 
me to-day about curtains. Will you ask her, please ? 
And, J ean, my dear, you know Philip is very busy 
— and he has many invitations — and he cannot 
always arrange his time. I hope you will not think 
it is anything else.” He did not look toward Dan- 
iel — he addressed his half-plea, half-apology, away 
from the eyes of his friend. 

The girl flushed under the old man’s ponderous 
artlessness as she would not have done in a more 
worldly atmosphere. But her uncle saved her an 
evasion. 

“ Surely, J oseph,” came the brisk, cheery 


120 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


rebuke, “ you cannot think we would doubt his sin- 
cerity. It is only surprising that a man like Dr. 
May has not always a previous engagement ” ; and 
he laughed over his little conceit, meeting J oseph’s 
eyes with frank cloudlessness. 

Jean went in to consult the housekeeper. 

“ Oh, no, Katie,” she answered, decidedly, when 
that functionary had made known her wants. “Let 
Dr. May furnish his own study. Is that all ? 99 

“ But, Miss Jean, you always does choose them 
things for us, and how can you ask a man to know 
anything about it?” She was following her per- 
suasively through the hall. 

“ I have told you, Katie, that it is impossible,” 
she reiterated, turning quietly upon her. “ No 
doubt Dr. May has every intention of choosing his 
own carpet or rugs.” Her sentence halted — a foot- 
fall upon the stairs apprising her that Dr. May was 
still in the house. She wished herself well out of 
the door — in J ericho — anywhere but there. 

“ Well, there now, I’ll just ask him,” exclaimed 
the woman, planting her hands triumphantly upon 
her hips as he came down the stairs at the foot 
of which they were standing. “ I’ve been asking 
Miss J ean, Dr. Philip, to get them things for your 
study, and she says as you knows more about it 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 121 


than she do and will be wanting to be doing of it 
all yourself. Is that true, now? ” 

Philip, standing on the last step, smiled amus- 
edly, glancing down at the distant dignity of the 
girl in her dark tailor-gown. The black velvet of 
her hat cast a soft shadow upon the creamy white- 
ness of her face. She made a charming figure in 
the dim light of the hall. 

“ Her pleading is quite thrown away,” she has- 
tened to say, with pleasant carelessness, turning 
toward the door. “ Your father often used to ask 
me to relieve him of such household nuisances, but 
this, of course, is different. 

The housekeeper moved reluctantly away. He 
put out his hand to take the book from within her 
arm. 

“ What are you reading? ” he asked, prolonging 
the grace of the short moment. “ What! Carlyle? 
You don’t pretend to like the old growler? ” 

“ I love him. He is a fire-god — all shams come 
to his stake. And as for me — I’d like to he his fuel- 
bearer! ” 

Her intensities set the healthy blood in his 
young veins stirring. At least — at any rate her 
eyes were irresistibly lovely. He was forced to put 
the book back intp her hand as she turned the door- 


122 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


knob with the other. “And such violent cures 
attract you? But — one moment — why is this dif- 
ferent? ” 

“ Different? ” 

“ Isn’t my room part of my father’s house? ” 

“ Oh, I had forgotten that. Why should I 
inflict my provincial tastes upon you? Surely, you 
have cultivated your own, in all things, in all these 
long years and experiences.” She had the door 
open, was half way down the steps, before he could 
decide whether in her words or in the nonchalant 
lift to her little head had lain a dim suggestion of 
contempt. He knew nothing of her but her music 
and the mutable gleams of thought fleeting over 
her expressive face. He raised his brows in amuse- 
ment over the contempt, vaguely surmising its 
origin. 

A half hour later, making his daily call upon his 
bed-ridden friend, Dr. Otis, flattered by gen- 
tle, white-haired Mrs. Otis, coquetted with by gold- 
en-haired Miss Otis — in that atmosphere of accus- 
tomed high breeding which had become his own — 
their nature having grown his habit — he quite for- 
got the scarcely grasped attraction oi Jean Willard. 
Young Otis had been haunting him like a shadow. 
Weeks before the coming of Dr. May, his enthus- 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 123 


iasm had aroused the interest of the quietly cynical 
“ Omars ” almost to lionizing pitch, but their curi- 
osity was forced to suspend judgment owing to the 
jealous attention the doctor gave the unexpected 
practice which had absorbed him almost from the 
day of his arrival. He had, however, met several 
of the members casually, and judging from these 
glimpses, he was contemplating with pleasure his 
introduction to the modest little circle. 

Nevertheless, he was forced to break his dinner 
engagement with Otis when the appointed evening 
arrived. “ An unforeseen consultation detains 
me,” his message ran, “ so be reasonable, dine with- 
out me, and I shall be at your rooms as near 7 :30 
as will be possible, that you may coach me in regard 
to those club matters, individualities, etc., which 
are bothering your conscientious ciceroneship.” 

Near the hour named, Otis admitted him. The 
room bore a company expectancy in the open piano, 
the cards and counters upon the table, the wine 
cooling in the corner beside the genially appointed 
buffet. 

“ This looks promising,” remarked Philip, put- 
ting down his hat and topcoat, and coming forward 
to the full light. With a faint motion, as of weari- 
ness satisfied, he threw himself upon the couch 


124 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


near the center of the room and glanced approv- 
ingly about him. “ I regretted having to send that 
message, Otis, hut you know a physician’s time is 
always half-mortgaged.” 

“ Yes, I was sorry,” returned his host, shortly, 
nervously throwing one leg over the other as he 
lounged opposite in the deep-cushioned easy chair. 

The doctor’s quick ear detected an unfamiliar 
restraint. 

His expressive eyebrows met in a fleeting ques- 
tion. “ You had something to tell me? ” he asked, 
pleasantly. 

“ Well — yes. But of course — now that you are 
here — ” He smiled a vague conclusion to his sen- 
tence. Philip noticed that, despite his easy atti- 
tude, the young fellow’s supple hand was twitching 
the heavy tassel on the chair arm, his glance rov- 
ing unsteadily about the room. 

“You would perhaps have asked me not to 
come, had we met earlier in the evening — is that 
it?” he asked, with amused interest. “ Out with 
it. You are expecting somebody whom it would 
be pleasanter for me not to meet? ” 

“ Oh, no, no. Not at all, not at all,” reiterated 
Otis, with extravagant politeness. “No one is com- 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 125 


ing but Taylor, and Griswold, and Stephen Forrest. 
You have met them all, I believe.” 

“ All but Forrest — and he and I used to be daily 
neighbors — at least, bodily.” 

“ So I understand. Were you — were you at all 
— friendly during those school days? ” The frank, 
clear-eyed face was uncomfortably flushed, the voice 
distant and cold. 

Philip’s fine hand closed involuntarily upon 
itself. His intuition was on the alert. “ There was 
no friendship between us,” he returned, candidly. 
“ I believe he considered me his rival — he was very 
seriously ambitious.” 

Otis drew in a deep, uneasy breath. “ As you 
were. I — that may account for his antagonism — 
although, of course, as our electing is conducted — 
one never knows who drops the dissenting ball.” 

“ You mean,” questioned Philip, with reassur- 
ing gentleness, “ that my name has been discred- 
ited?” 

“ Oh, confound it! ” burst forth the other, apo- 
plectically. “ The man has it bruited that you are 
a Jew. But, of course, I am only waiting for your 
denial of the damned preposterous libel.” 

“ Why damned — why preposterous? ” He was 
leaning forward as though to study his vis-a-vis 


126 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


more closely. His eyes were steady, his mouth 
half smiled. A slight, warm flush tinged his cheek. 

“ But — but you’re not,” combated Otis, lamely, 
sitting up in consternation. 

“ But I am,” asserted the other in calm conclu- 
siveness. “ Don’t you see that I am, now that you 
look at me ? ” He spoke kindly, as a superior might 
lead a child he desired to teach. 

“ Surely you never said — ” began Otis, icily. 

“ You never asked.” 

“ But there are means of apprisal.” 

“ I saw no necessity. The gates were nominally 
down. You required no passport proclaiming the 
contrary.” 

“ Did Harleigh know? ” 

“No. And if he had?” 

“ By Jove — he hated a hypocrite! ” The word 
came in resistless passion. 

“ Which more — that or a Jew? ” 

“I must judge him by myself. We out here 
are still unregenerate enough to damn the hypo- 
crite with the lowest of criminals.” 

“You mean you could have forgiven — cared 
for — the avowed Jew? ” 

“ Before the hypocrite.” 

“ Bosh! ” 


HEIRS OP YESTERDAY 127 


The cool comment acted like a probe. Otis’s 
hot young eyes met his skeptical challenge with 
prompt reply. “I admire — respect many Jews,” 
he returned defiantly. 

“ At a distance.” 

“ You are a stranger to your own birth-place,” 
Otis returned, quietly. “ Otherwise you would 
know that here and there one meets a young fellow 
who is frankly J ewish, yet welcome in any set.” 

“ Here and there. How did the exceptions 
come to he tolerated? Was the card of admission 
heavily tipped with gold, promising prodigal 
spending — or with the fame of talent, promising 
rare entertainment? You imply some excuse for 
the open door.” 

Otis met his gaze directly, uncontrolledly now. 
“ You are a man of the world,” he replied, without 
more ado. “ You know from what center all social 
circles are drawn. You know equality rounds 
them all. You also know — although you may 
choose to ignore it — that not only equality of 
individuality, but coincidence of family tradition, 
is the barbed wire fence hemming all round — and 
out.” 

“And there we naturally separate,” supple- 
mented the apt pupil, thoughtfully. “ But inform 


128 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


me further — I own to a hitherto unsuspected 
myopia — what becomes then of our grand scheme 
of democracy? What becomes of the glory of the 
self-made man? ” 

“ A shibboleth. There are no self-made men — 
in society. Nor elsewhere.” 

Dr. May studied him. “ I think I understand 
your reservation,” he answered, slowly. “ Then it 
is true — the age of miracles is past. The gods no 
longer conceive — we are all essentially fellow-made. 
What a responsibility! ” He leaned forward in an 
attitude of the deepest musing. Then, as with 
a sudden start of self-consciousness, he said 
quickly, “ But don’t let us trouble ourselves with 
the analysis — it requires delicate handling. My 
little venture was just one of those operations, as 
it were, which we call successful when the patient 
does not die under the knife, although he may suc- 
cumb later to nature’s weakness or unforeseen com- 
plications. Queer how a man incognito may meet 
all requirements — and how, with just a birth-mark 
exposed, is the same man never again.” 

Otis eyed him closely, with a sudden sharp pain 
at heart, thinking to find in the face the sarcasm so 
dangerously absent from the voice. But the face 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 129 


was quite as quietly intent — it wore the expression 
of one engaged in reading an interesting, imper- 
sonal phase of life. 

However, after a moment, “ Confess,” laughed 
Philip abruptly, “ you feel as though you had been 
made game of by a clever rogue.” 

“ You were under false colors,” Otis flashed back 
through set teeth. 

“ What! Under the Stars and Stripes? Think 
a moment, my countryman.” 

“ By heavens! ” exclaimed the young man, 
springing to his feet. “ Do you think we can for- 
get the man you stood for? There’s the torturing 
inconsistency of it — the honorable man of brains, 
the perfect, worshiped friend, hut ” 

“ Yet a Jew. It is strange. Ho, don’t torture 
yourself. Perhaps even Harleigh would have 
drawn hack from the ugly revelation. If Har- 
leigh had known, there might never have been a 
friendship — if there had been no friendship, there 
might never have been a deception to unveil. Who 
knows? The premises are too hypothetical. There 
is someone knocking at your door.” 

In fact, a chorus of knocks was in progress. 

“ You will stay, of course,” said Otis, quickly. 


130 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ I — I trust you will not impute any narrow 
prejudice to my attitude. But in my surprise — . 
I hope you will stay.” 

“ Thank you. It will he rather interesting 
meeting Stephen Forrest.” His perfect repose, 
judged in the new light seemed merely a refined 
impudence. Otis turned from him as from a 
stranger. A new, subtle mystery emanated from 
him — the mystery of ghostly ages. 

The three men entered hilariously, Stephen For- 
rest limping in last. At sight of Dr. May, who 
had risen, a perceptible embarrassment fell 
restrainingly upon them. They had counted upon 
Otis’s averting his coming. 

“ You have all met Dr. May, I think,” said Otis, 
off-handedly, as Taylor and Griswold bowed. For- 
rest, with a curt nod, seated himself at the table and 
began laying out the cards in a game of solitaire. 

“ I scarcely think Mr. Forrest remembers me,” 
suggested Philip, leaning his strong, well-knit 
figure against the piano, his eyes deliberately fixed 
upon the delicate face of the artist. “ Yet we ran 
each other rather close when we were youngsters.” 

“ I remember you distinctly. But I never ran,” 
returned the artist, absorbed in the careful placing 
of his cards. “ You will remember that you always 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 131 


got in first. Success and you ran hand in hand. 
Always have, I hear.” 

“ I have been most successful in hiding my 
failures. How else? ” 

“ Otis can enlighten you. I have also heard 
somewhat of you from — er — our mutual friend — 
the lovely Jewess — Miss Jean Willard.” The cards 
required all his attention. Philip treated the inso- 
lent face and tone to a speculative regard. 

“ Do you mean Daniel Willard’s niece? ” broke 
in Otis, hurriedly assuming the office of sentinel. 
u What a glorious pianist she is! I heard her play 
last week at the benefit for the Children’s Hos- 
pital. Taylor, you ought to know her.” 

“ Miss Willard? Certainly. She is one of the 
finest amateurs in town, in my estimation,” 
returned the ’cellist, sincerely wishing the uncom- 
fortable moment over. 

Philip’s eyes still held the feignedly nonchalant 
face of the artist. He resented the unnecessary 
introduction of Jean Willard’s name in the hostile 
assemblage — he could not understand the intro- 
duction, nor yet his own resentment. 

Forrest lifted his eyes from his play with a pro- 
voking sneer into the steady hazel eyes still cover- 
ing him. Then he passed his glance on to his host. 


132 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ I thought we were going to play,” he said, 
impatiently. 

“ You’re in a hurry, hut I suppose we’ll have to 
humor your proverbial restlessness. Of course, 
doctor, you’ll take a hand.” 

“ What is your game? ” 

“ Poker, in plain American — what the English 
call Bluff,” said Forrest, swiftly. “ You know it, 
I presume.” 

“ That is another of my successes,” returned 
Philip, with smiling imperturbability, from his 
position at the piano. 

“ Ah, hut before we begin,” drawled Griswold, 
striving against the discord, “ won’t you play some- 
thing for us, Dr. May? We have been hearing 
marvelous eulogiums of your skill with the keys.” 

“ It is merely a race propensity,” said Philip 
pleasantly, seating himself and running his fingers 
over the keyboard. “ I have not touched the piano 
in months, so you will excuse my undisciplined 
fingers. I believe the last time I played was on the 
last night of January of this year.” The piano 
was turned so that he faced them. His eyes, grown 
strangely brilliant, were raised to Otis standing 
pale and disturbed behind Stephen Forrest’s chair. 
Otis knew the date as that of J ohn Harleigh’s death, 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 133 


but his senses had grown confused under the spirit 
of aloofness breathed by the magnetic figure at the 
piano, under the probing gaze compelling him like 
a confessional the while the harmonious fingers 
ran a haunting, incessant accompaniment of som- 
bre, pursuing chords. Years before, in a German 
gallery he had met just such a gaze from a head of 
the Christ, and the resemblance before him now 
was a bewildering revelation. But his thronging 
thoughts were submerged in a sudden mad rush of 
melody, rhapsodic, barbaric, fierce, uncontrolled, 
yet melody throughout, which swept out to them. 

“My Bedouin ancestry,” smiled the player out 
of the storm beating, retreating, engulfing itself. 
But presently the tones mourned into quiet, crept 
out, climbed, soared like a soul out of materiality. 

“ A Mosaic flight,” annotated the doctor’s voice 
through the profound majesty. “ Or, rather, 
Beethoven. But what odds? They’re both god- 
heads.” 

And then, pursuing the same flight he merged 
into the Lohengrin prelude, the swelling spiritual 
strains increasing, diminishing, choiring toward — 
a brutal crash. 

“ There’s a Heine-esque finale for you,” he 
laughed, as he rose in the throbbing silence. “ I 


134 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


never hear that prelude without thinking of the 
story Catulle Mendes tells of the Jew who possessed 
an exquisite bust of Wagner, about the brows of 
which he had placed a laurel wreath, and about the 
throat — a cord. But enough of revelation — let’s 
get down to reality and bluff.” 

His face was deeply flushed as he crossed the 
room to the table. They felt his mastery of the 
moment, of themselves. But he was no longer mas- 
ter of himself — and he knew it : knew that the J ew, 
crushed to earth within him, had defied him 
throughout his playing, was defying his strong 
control now. 

He seated himself and, with imperious assertive- 
ness, picked up the cards. A cork popped, cards 
were dealt. The game proceeded. The players 
* passed/ ‘ bet/ ‘ stood/ ‘ called/ — the terms ring- 
ing out with the chink of money, while from the 
beginning Philip May kept up a constant hum of 
song, — snatches of opera, popular airs, costermon- 
ger and coon songs, — never pausing, never allow- 
ing it to interfere with his own cool, fortunate 
play, hut driving Stephen Forrest to the verge of 
frenzy. 

“ Quit that confounded singing,” he ordered 
finally, quite beside himself as his vis-a-vis drew in 
the pool with careless ease. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 135 


Philip bent his head in profound acquiescence. 
The next minute he was whistling, softly, clearly, 
charmingly, as though it were impossible to be 
still. The excitement had brought out the bravado. 
It was a phase of reversion — the rich, strong emo- 
tiveness of primal nature showing through the 
veneer of culture. And in that moment when 
he stood alone, revealed, he seemed more the 
man, more the individual, than he had ever seemed 
before, and Otis almost feared him — his unknow- 
ableness. And all the while the winnings piled up 
about him, and he smiled between his whistling, 
and the hours flew, and Stephen Forrest’s breath- 
ing grew quicker as he felt the man opposite him 
winning his slender means with the ease and in- 
difference of an experienced gambler with whom 
the gods were in league. 

“ One,” said Griswold, discarding. 

“ Pat,” said Forrest. 

“ Pass,” said Otis. 

“ Two,” said Taylor. 

“ Three,” announced Philip, the dealer. 

The betting began with Griswold, rose with For- 
rest. Taylor dropped out. Philip raised Forrest 
two-fold. Griswold laid down his hand. 

“ I call you,” said Stephen, hoarsely, throwing 


136 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


down his last gold piece, his face white and shaken 
as he leaned across the table. 

“ Think twice,” admonished the winner plea- 
santly. 

Stephen half rose from his chair, “ I have called 
you,” he said, incoherently, glaring at his oppo- 
nent. 

Philip took up his interrupted whistling, laid 
open his cards — the highest possible hand. 

Forrest bent forward to look. An unutterable 
hate flared into the face he lifted to Philip’s. “ You 
dealt,” he ground out — “ you dealt — you damned 
whistling Jew — you’ve been — ” 

There was a flashing movement, a chair was 
overturned — the singularly well-shaped hand had 
gripped the slender throat. 

But before the protest could be voiced as the 
others sprang to their feet, the hand relaxed. For- 
rest sank back livid and speechless. 

“ I beg your pardon,” said Philip, standing pale 
and haughty before his host. “ I am sorry to have 
spoiled your evening. You had better look to your 
friend.” 

He did not offer his hand. Another moment and 
the door clicked behind him. 


CHAPTER VIII 


Leaning upon silken pillows, his strong, silvered 
head and fine features in a glow of soft light, Daniel 
Willard led the yearly songs of praise and thanks- 
giving over the deliverance from bondage of the 
children of Israel. It was the santification feast 
of the Passover. High above the joyous sonorous- 
ness of the men’s voices, rose the sweet treble of the 
women. The wine gleamed ruby-red in crystal 
glasses and in the two ancient silver goblets, Will- 
ard heirlooms, always used upon this occasion, one 
by Daniel, one by his close, time-tested friend, 
Joseph May. Upon the satin damask before the 
master of the festival, was placed the little cluster 
of mementoes indicative of the burdens and vic- 
tories of the band of God’s chosen : the unleavened 
bread, the bone of the paschal lamb, the bitter 
herb, the parsley and vinegar, the almonds — and — 
apples figuring as mortar. 

Usually, with good-natured placidity, Daniel 
hastened with the historic significances and ob- 
servations, in order to hurry forward the dinner. 
i37 


138 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


But to-night Joseph, in his new velvet house-cap, 
in new, sternly serious exactitude, had allowed 
nothing to be omitted ; every passage was given in 
its entirety. And Daniel had submitted indul- 
gently, striving to relieve the intoning with an 
occasional whimsical turn or trill, arresting any 
unseemly laughter by a quickly raised finger or 
eyebrow of admonition, and then continuing grave- 
ly on over his delightfully familiar way. But de- 
spite their earnestness, Elijah had not appeared 
with tidings of the long awaited Prince of Peace, 
and his filled glass and set chair, the door left in- 
vitingly open for his coming, had served only to 
elicit a gay cynicism from Paul Stein. 

But the prelude was all conscientiously chanted, 
the fragments of unleavened bread removed, and, 
dinner being served, their half-restrained holiday 
gayety bubbled forth with the sumptuous good 
cheer. Dinner over, the cloth was again cleared of 
all but the wine, glasses, and quaintly illustrated 
books, and then began the Hallel, the triumphant, 
soul-stirring hallelujahs. 

They waxed hilarious. Soft-voiced Laura Brook- 
man, beautiful in shimmering gala attire, looked 
flushed and merry, sharing her book with Paul 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 139 


Stein, pretending to be shocked over his low-voiced, 
modern elucidation of the ancient Hebraic text. 
Brookman, comfortably doubled over his Hagad- 
dah, sang out like a cantor, with all his lungs, and 
wondrous attempts at improvising. Daniel and 
J oseph accompanied softly, somewhat quaveringly, 
as though lost in old memories of home and kin- 
dred, breaking now and then into louder ecstasy 
when some particular refrain carried them from 
their feet with reminiscences of lost loves and 
voices. Jean, radiant in diaphanous white, sang 
along in smiling abstraction, one ear given to her 
surroundings, the other to the possible ringing of 
the door-bell. But eight o’clock came, and still 
Elijah delayed. 

It was during the full flood of the paean on the 
Building of the Temple that the faint peal, almost 
lost in the mounting, lusty singing, was heard hy 
the listening girl, and she arose starry-eyed. 

“ The Prince at last?” asked Stein, while the 
others looked up questioningly. 

“ Throw wide the door, my dear,” cried Daniel, 
with flushed cheeks, “ and go forth to greet him.” 

Joseph shaded his face with a trembling hand 
while the girl hostess moved into the hall. 


140 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ I came to meet Elijah,” she laughed, with win- 
some grace, making him a deep obeisance as they 
met within a foot of the dining-room. 

“ Did you expect him?” Philip asked, her 
words, herself, seeming hut to bear out, to plunge 
him deeper into the vision of the power of the past 
which had opened out the night before to reabsorb 
him. 

“ We always expect him — traditionally — this 
night,” she smiled. “ It is the Sedar night.” She 
pulled the portiere aside, and the Past, in truth, 
engulfed him. 

He had not expected it — the grim coincidence 
struck him as full of subjective, dramatic possibili- 
ties. He smiled, under his mustache, over the 
thought while he stood with his hand upon his 
father’s shoulder and Daniel Willard presented him 
to the other guests. 

He seemed to bring with him an air of philistin- 
ism, of worldly alienation, yet of polished criticism. 
The sweet comfort of the moment was lost. But 
he begged them to continue the singing. 

“ Don’t let me feel that I have stopped the 
music,” he said, seating himself beside Jean. “ That 
chorus sounded particularly triumphant as the door 
was opened for me.” • 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 141 


“ Mr. Brookman will sing the last verse for us/* 
said Daniel. " He is a whole choir in himself.” 

Brookman laughed. “ All right. Laura, you 
hum along with me and divide my blushes.” 

While his voice rose and swelled in the grand old 
air, its virile resonance toned down, yet sustained, 
by Laura’s liquid lilting, the wonder of it all flashed 
through Philip’s disturbed being. He seemed to 
have stepped into some strange side-show out of 
the grand-court of life. Yet in how many homes 
throughout the universe was the ancient custom be- 
ing celebrated that night! To endure after so 
many ages, nay, in spite of so many ages, of hate, 
oppression — progress! It was marvelous, well-nigh 
supernatural. * 

His practiced eye measured the mien and faces 
of those about him. Joseph May, squat, sturdy, 
stubborn, symboling an impregnable foundation, 
defying time through an immovable, inherited big- 
otry rather than through any studied conviction. 
Daniel Willard, dreamer, idealist, joying in his own 
interpretation of the spirit of the law, reading life 
and men through his own halo — a dreamer in Israel 
who dreamed he was awake! Charles Brookman, 
calm, happy in his materiality, product of "en- 
forced specialization ” in his success, product of a 


142 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


sternly simple domestic morality in his negative 
goodness. Laura Brookman filling beautifully her 
costly frame, quick-witted, quick-cultured, con- 
sciously conventional, full of unsounded reserves. 
Paul Stein, deftly observant, keenly alert, strong- 
hearted, carrying no superfluous sentiment, frank- 
ly Semitic on his face value, heartily of his race 
through nature and love, intellectually above it in 
being able to judge it — without prejudice. Jean 
Willard, — hut here his cool analysis paused be- 
fore the dreamy power of a loveliness more of spir- 
itual suggestiveness than of beauty of feature — for 
here, he thought, lay, perhaps, the answer to all the 
mystery, to all the poetry of passion and endurance 
of the race. A representative group whose blended 
characteristics would scarcely have produced that 
legendary composite — the “ typical ” Jew. 

The song ended, Daniel cried “ bravo! ” and Jean 
clapped her hands. Her satiny white skin was 
stained now with a faint rosy underglow — she was 
happy — forgetful of all rumor, of all suspicion. 
Was he not there, beside her? The unconscious 
coquetry of joy helped unconscious nature. Con- 
versation drifted easily into tete-a-tetes. 

Philip admired the wealth of eschscholtzias, the 
glorious golden California wild poppies, glowing 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 143 


upon the table and about the room, and Jean ex- 
plained how she had kept them all day in a dark- 
ened room, only bringing them into the candle- 
light at the hour when she wished to awaken their 
satiny splendor. 

“ Counterfeiting daylight for the beautiful 
stupids,” she said. “ The only fault they have is 
that they fall to pieces so quickly.” The long 
golden petals already strewed the table-cloth. 

“ But nothing is permanent,” he suggested 
lightly. “ Nothing ever is — it is only a becoming.” 

“ You mean evolutionally? ” 

u Anciently speaking — yes.” 

“ Nothing is — it is only a becoming,” she re- 
peated musingly, fastening the poppy she had been 
toying with in her bosom. “ Then there is hope for 
all of us. For of course that remark refers most of 
all to us poor dots of humanity.” 

“ Oh, man — man is only a passing thought in the 
mind of the Creator,” he teased, trying to forget 
himself in gauging her, and noticing how the 
poppy seemed to glow up into her eyes. 

“ What a skeptical thought! Besides it is blas- 
phemous. According to that, how, #iany hiore low 
thoughts He must have than great ones.” They 
were laughing into each qtheFfe eyes. “ And what 


144 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


a lot of vain sophistry and red-tape cant we Jews 
escape by making our God a glorious abstraction.” 
She was speaking in the serious strain most natural 
to her. 

“ ‘ We Jews! * ” He drew a hard breath. “ But 
what of Sinai? ” he questioned. 

“ You are speaking anciently again.” 

“ How?” 

“ e Nothing is — it is only a becoming 9 — noth- 
ing more so than the Jew and Jewish comment- 
ary.” 

“ But — this. ” His eye swept the symbols of the 
festivity. If she was minded to teach, why not? 
Surely she had the most beautiful eyes in the world! 
And there was a certain cadence to her pretty young 
voice — 

“ Oh, this is a picture — ” she was saying, “ part 
of our ancestral gallery— which we unveil every 
year for the sake of auld lang syne. If you could 
have heard our rabbi at the Congress of Religions 
you would understand what I mean — how we move 
— how singularly free, unhampered, broad, open to 
the light of every day, Jewish thought is. Oh, I 
was so proud of him. He seemed to overtop them 
all. I wish I could tell you how — but I am so 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 145 


densely ignorant, I never get anything but the 
spirit out of things.” 

“ May you not have judged through instinctive 
racial sympathy — prejudice?” he murmured, en- 
joying her swift enthusiasms, the music of her voice 
making dim the meaning of her words. 

“ Perhaps. But how else does one judge — hon- 
estly. One cannot detach oneself from oneself, can 
one? ” She questioned him with her eyes, not wait- 
ing for his answer. “ Wait a minute — I do remem- 
ber something. Our other rabbi, our younger, 
beautiful-voiced one, said, at the time, that when 
we pray we do not pray to the divinity above us, 
but to the divinity within us. Well?” 

“ Truly? And you pray so? And is it effica- 
cious? ” 

“ Thereby hangs a tale.” 

“ Tellable? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; if I am willable.” 

“ Well? ” 

“ IPs another proof of that f becoming 9 theory 
of yours. When I was a little girl I used to say a He- 
brew prayer of which I understood not one word — 
recited it like a poll-parrot. I could repeat it now 
word for word, straight from the beginning, if — 


146 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


"How did it go?” He spoke impulsively, the 
color springing up his cheek. 

" Oh such gibberish! ” She ran through it laugh- 
ingly. 

He could have repeated in unison — they were 
linked by a ‘ coincidence of family tradition/ 

" But I renounced that as soon as I was allowed 
the silence of prayer. I remember at that stage 1 
was very confidential to my God, told him all my 
little vanities and ambitions, begged him to make 
me successful in my examinations, to make my 
teachers love me, to give me certain pretty frocks, 
and all the other desires of childhood. Then, as I 
grew older, and life grew shorter and more sacred, 
I ceased to itemize — I adopted a sort of cipher — a 
shorthand mode of communication. And then I 
discovered that my God was not listening to me — 
that I was blasphemous in thus addressing him — 
and so I ceased to pray.” 

A silence fell between them. 

"And yet,” she looked up with a flash of ra- 
diance, "the primitive notion is there just the 
same. Because in very happy moments I do pray 
— instinctively.” 

"What do you pray?” What a child she was, 
still full of the wonder of her own growth. 


HEIRS OP YESTERDAY 147 


Her mouth dimpled merrily. “ My uncle says 
it’s the whole of religion in a nut-shell.” 

u Well, teach me.” 

“ Oh, no,” she answered very quietly. 

“ Oh, hut you must.” 

She raised her eyes to his insistent gaze. What! 
repeat to this self-constituted critic, this cold-eyed 
man of the world her fragmentary rhapsody of joy 
and gratitude for life, her childish “ God bless 
everybody, and make me he a good little girl ” ! 
“ Little ” girl, forsooth! 

Yet he could feel the family bent through her 
blushing reticence. She was a girlish Daniel Will- 
ard — and he told her so. 

“ Then diagnose Uncle Daniel — and I’ll pre- 
scribe for myself.” 

He looked down at her, noticed inconsequently 
a tendril of dark hair caressing her tiny ear — strug- 
gled a moment against her physical charm — and 
submitted. 

She was no longer Jean Willard, the Jewess. 
She was only a beautiful girl sitting close beside 
him, whom it lay within his possibilities to attract. 
He turned more directly to her. . . . There 

rushed over Jean the full sway of a brilliant man 
throwing aside his accustomed reticences for her 


148 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


sake. The murmur of the other voices died out of 
her consciousness. Whether it was only the brief- 
est span of time or a cycle in which they spoke to- 
gether she could not have told. She only felt that 
she had traveled deep and far alone with him. 

“ Come,” he said, half rising from his chair. 
“ Where’s your piano ? I’ll play you a strain — two 
strains — three — more eloquent of these different 
phases of the grand passion in different types of 
humanity than I could or would describe to you 
in words. The music to you — ” He paused, resum- 
ing his seat as the maid presented a card to her mis- 
tress. 

J ean’s foot tapped the floor impatiently. “ Oh 
dear,” she murmured, with frank annoyance, and, 
with a fleeting pout lost in a smile, she murmured 
a word of excuse, and left the room. 

Could Stephen Forrest have guessed she was on 
the point of relenting? Else how account for his 
assurance in again crossing her threshold, she won- 
dered impatiently, hurrying through the hall. How 
could she get rid of him without hurting his dan- 
gerous sensitiveness, without letting him know that 
he was an intrusion upon a moment so superlatively 
happy she had wished it without end? 

But her impatience fled at sight of his weary pal- 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 149 


lor. “ Let us both sit down,” she said in an impulse 
of compassion, all party spirit and inclination lost 
through the woman. “ You look tired to death.” 

“ I am,” he said, following her example and sink- 
ing into a chair, surprise over her gentle acceptance 
of his being there giving his conscience a leap of 
shame. “ And I can give no excuse for my daring 
— after our last meeting — except — ” 

“ The picture? ” She prompted kindly as 
he paused. 

His little scheme of vengeance looked mean and 
petty beside her broad forbearance. He had never 
seen her as she seemed revealed to-night — his im- 
pressionable senses took in her full value for love 
and art. 

“ You are going out,” he said with quickened 
breath, his eye sweeping over her unusual radi- 
ance. 

“ Ho. I am staying in.” She spoke gently, but 
shortly. 

“ Then I am intruding — you expect others.” 

“ Oh no. No one else is coming.” 

He chafed under her courteous curtness. He 
fully appreciated her spiritual absence, her reluct- 
ance to being there with him. He could feel her 
resolving his visit into a business interview, nothing 


150 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


more. And he could not, in all decency, force it 
into anything longer . 

“ And so,” she added, breaking in upon his re- 
flection, “ what is that long thought? ” 

“ Yes, I am going. No, don’t trouble to speak 
the little social fib — you know I always understood 
what was passing behind your face. But as for our 
last set-to, I believe, yes, I feel sure you are going 
to relent.” 

“ Perhaps. If you promise to be good.” The 
playful words were charged with a warning mean- 
ing^ which he grasped at once. Unfortunately, how- 
ever, they only served to recall the real object of his 
being there. 

“ Good? Oh, I’ll be good enough,” he laughed 
with a contemptuous snort. “ I’ll paint a picture 
that will he a picture, never fear — hut it will be you 
— only you — and I’ll he romantic and call it — ‘ the 
Jewess ’ — hut remember, it will he only you. And 
then when it’s quite finished, and I’ve put it away, 
out of the reach of memory, I’ll paint its compan- 
ion. Want to hear what that will he like? ” 

“ I am listening to you.” 

“ It won’t he so much to your taste, because, I 
promise you, it will belong utterly to the realistic 
school — and you don’t like naked truths, do you? ” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 151 


“Not ugly ones. I mean I shouldn't choose 
them — for companions. And what will you call 
my * companion '? " 

“ ‘ The Jew/ ” 

“ Indeed. And you think you can find nothing 
but an ugly model? " 

“ Oh, he has stood for me already. But you mis- 
take my meaning — he is most inconsistently good 
to look at in conventional attire. We were speak- 
ing about naked truths." 

“And where did you discover this interesting 
sham?" 

“ In Dr. May." 

“Yes? " The rising inflection was sweetly, stilly 
dangerous. 

“ Ton honor. He stood unconscious model for 
me last night. Oh, it was rich, rich! " He threw 
up his arms in an ecstasy of false delight, but hur- 
ried on, goaded by, trampling ruthlessly over, the 
protest in her proud face. “I'll paint him," he 
continued, leaning toward her in smiling, low- 
voiced confidence, “ as he never chose to he painted 
before — full face, not profile — at the moment when 
his counterfeit bit of pasteboard was torn to shreds 
by a set of finical young Christians who politely 
shut their club-door in his face. I could throw a 


152 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


good deal of quiet drama into that. I think you 
would prefer it to the more sensational pose of 
clutching the throat of the man who dared to call 
him Jew? ” 

His still smiling face was ghastly, his nostrils 
quivering; he scarcely saw the features of the girl 
before him. “ He has a hand of steel, that mutual 
friend of ours. Look! ” He threw hack his head 
disclosing to her battling senses the still plainly 
discernible red marks upon his delicate throat. 
“ Philip May — his mark — at your service,” he pre- 
sented with mock courtesy. “ What spicy reading 
the press could make of it if placed at their clever 
interpretation.” 

An icy hand pressed upon her heart; she strove 
vainly to answer his waiting pause. 

“ Pshaw! ” he laughed roughly, “ you’re deathly 
pale. Don’t take it so seriously. Let me assure 
you it will have a tame enough ending. I should 
only need to offer him this alternative — publicity, 
or apology before witnesses — and flop! the Jew 
would he in character — upon his knees.” 

She sprang to her feet, a flood of released blood 
rushing madly from her throat to her brow. “ You 
lie! ” she flamed, in imperious suffocation. “ You 
lie, Stephen Forrest! ” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 153 


He laughed somewhat dazedly at the passion he 
had evoked. 

"Why,” she repeated more slowly, measuring 
his ironic insolence, “ I’ll prove that you lie.” 

Acting impetuously upon the impetuous 
thought, she was out of the room before either of 
them could take count. 

Somewhat surprised over her low-voiced sum- 
mons, Dr. May followed her through the hall. She 
did not turn to him until they were both well in 
the room, and Stephen Forrest, hiding his astonish- 
ment over her summary retort under a gracious 
suavity, stood up. He looked deferentially toward 
her while she spoke. 

“ You must pardon my calling you so impulsive- 
ly, Dr. May,” she laughed, still tremulously, “ hut 
I have challenged Mr. Forrest to prove his boast 
that you would sooner go on your knees to him than 
see your name — attached to some vile story of his 
concoction — in print. Will you second me? ” 

He smiled reassuringly into her beautiful eyes, 
turning from her to Forrest and looking him over 
as a mastiff might a terrier. “ Is that your proposi- 
tion? ” he asked quietly, with a raised eyebrow. 

A light, the quick light of jealous insight, flashed 
in upon the artist’s confused consciousness : her in- 


154 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


tensified loveliness, her dress, her unexpected gen- 
tleness toward him, her passionate umbrage, Philip 
May’s presence. “ Decidedly you have me at a dis- 
advantage,” he said softly, turning to the girl, a 
mad pain at his heart. “ Surely you must know I 
never should have expressed myself as I have, had 
I known that the love you felt for Dr. May, so 
naively, yet plainly expressed to me not long ago, 
had this consummation in view — had come to this. 
Was it quite fair to me? ” He held out a hand of 
truce. 

She looked down at it, white, impassive. Some- 
thing indescribable in her face smote into his pity. 
“ Ah well, I’ve made a mess of it, as usual,” he con- 
fessed sharply, “and the only way out of it is 
through the door. Good-night.” He brushed past 
Philip as he limped his way out. 

Philip turned hurriedly to J ean. “ I’m sorry you 
have been drawn into this unpleasant affair,” he 
said in a matter-of-fact, impersonal manner, a 
scowling light in his eyes, “ and sorry my pleasant 
evening has been spoiled. Mr. Forrest and I will 
settle this little discussion outside. Excuse me to 
Mr. Willard, will you? ” He took her hand gently, 
pressed it strongly, scarcely glanced at her, and 
caught the front door just as it was closing behind 
Stephen Forrest. 


CHAPTER IX 


Several of the personages concerned in the inci- 
dents herein detailed, enjoyed their next morning’s 
breakfast with a peculiar relish. 

Among them, Paul Stein, seated in the restau- 
rant he usually frequented, after opening his 
crackling newspaper and glancing over the foreign 
dispatches, turned idly to the local news. In a 
moment the gleam of interest in his eyes burst into 
amazement, radiated into keen amusement. He 
folded the paper comfortably to the desired col- 
umns, propped it up against the cream pitcher and 
prepared to enjoy his berries and his news, his 
whole head snapping with absorbed pleasure while 
his eyes ran down the lines. 

“ Well done, by George! ” was his continuous 
commentary as he proceeded. “ Wonder who wrote 
it up. Smacks of high comedy. Good subject — 
confoundedly, disgustingly good.” 

The waiter came with his coffee. He carelessly 
turned the page to the stock and bond reports. He 
drank his coffee without reading. “ How did it get 
i55 


156 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


out?” he queried. “ Bell-boy called in the row, 
no doubt — a hundred outlets in a hotel like that. 
Found by someone who knew its literary value. 
What an ass it makes of him. Pity. In spite of 
rumor he seemed every inch a man. Nothing of 
the Malvolio in his outside make-up. Dear me, 
what a pity! A derisive thing like that fixes his 
reputation. Can’t live it down or fame it down. 
If his father sees it, he will eat his heart out. And 
the Chevalier. And Jean — wonder what she’ll have 
to say now. Well,” he travestied, “you can’t fool 
all the people all the time. Poor little Jean with 
her heights!” He rose with a love-laugh in his 
eyes. 

His was a solitary breakfast — a silent comment- 
ary. Elsewhere tongues, and eyes, and thoughts 
were busy tearing the man and his motives to 
shreds. Much talk, many sneers, some indignation 
of two sorts, and over all the ready laugh, followed 
the reading of the clever skit. 

Jean had untwisted the tightly spiraled news- 
paper and placed it beside her uncle’s plate. Gen- 
erally, he supplied her with occasional tid-bits from 
his perusal, often passing her the paper when he 
had read through an item of unusual interest. It 
was the first morning of the Passover — both leav- 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 157 


ened and unleavened bread were upon the table. 
Daniel, who was very fond of the whitey-brown 
crisps had been forbidden them by his physician, 
but he always buttered and ate a mouthful as if in 
excuse for his untimely toast. 

He failed to notice that Jean, despite her cheery 
demeanor, was eating as though under compulsion. 
Presently she saw him hurriedly put down his cup 
and half turn from her, his absorbed gaze traveling 
over the printed page held close in his trembling 
grasp. His color mounted steadily, hotly, to his 
temples. 

“ What is it? ” 

She stood behind his chair, leaning over his 
shoulder, her hand upon his to steady the flutter- 
ing paper. There was a moment’s breathless, ab- 
sorbed silence. 

“An abominable lie, my dear,” pronounced 
Daniel finally, his voice crushing huskily over the 
words. “Abominable. Some rival’s cowardly 
thrust.” 

The girl still leaned over his shoulder. Irritated 
by her silence, he turned his face so suddenly that 
it struck against her cheek. He was startled by the 
icy touch. 

“ I am just finishing,” she explained, taking the 


158 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


paper, and drawing from him so as to effectually 
conceal her countenance. 

“ You will have already discovered the falsity 
of it,” he laughed angrily. 

Jean laid the paper beside him upon the table. 
A chill smile touched her lips. “The writer is 
witty,” she remarked lightly. “What diverting 
copy the story makes.” She laughed curiously. 
“ It really makes a very funny story.” 

“ The story! But there is no story. What are 
you talking about? ” 

She laughed softly, indulgently, in bitter knowl- 
edge. 

Daniel’s face turned fiery. “ You must be preju- 
diced, my dear,” he said slowly, putting the brake 
upon his anger, “ to believe so readily in the vile 
cowardice and buffoonery of an apparent gentle- 
man — and my friend.” 

She looked straight, and pale, and unswerving- 
ly into his eyes. Daniel shook off his glasses. “ You 
can believe it then,” he exclaimed, catching them 
as they fell dangling. 

Her close-pressed lips refused to answer. Her 
uncle arose from the table. They were as near a 
quarrel as circumstances had ever drawn them. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 159 


“ I am going to the Temple this morning,” he 
said distantly, comparing his watch with the clock. 

"It is too early yet, isn’t it?” remarked Jean. 
She had turned from him to throw open the win- 
dow. 

“ I will go over to J oseph — now — before he has 
a chance to read that — calumny.” He had not yet 
driven the emotion from his voice. 

J ean’s heart gave a leap at the name. “ Poor 
Uncle Joseph! ” she murmured musingly, and then 
she started to feel her uncle’s heavy hand upon her 
shoulder. 

“ As long as you live with me, my dear,” he said 
quietly, “ never look or speak distrust in my pres- 
ence of Philip May. Do you understand? ” 

Her eyes were suddenly blinded with tears. 
“Yes,” she whispered indistinctly, turning her 
head from him. 

And meanwhile, over next door, J oseph May had 
been enjoying his Passover breakfast. Into a howl- 
like cup he had broken a quantity of the matzos and 
poured over all the rich, creamy coffee. As the 
aroma of the delicious beverage steamed up and 
about him, he lost himself in its delectable con- 
sumption. Only when half finished could he suffi- 


160 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


ciently withdraw himself from his thraldom to 
unfold the messenger of malice which lay so inno- 
cently beside his plate. 

In a flash the world was lost to him, the devil 
had him in his clutch. But not wholly. He had 
had his experience and, with a stealthy glance 
around, as though innumerable eyes were upon him, 
he crept to the sideboard and poured three careful 
drops from the tiny vial down his throat. He stood 
a moment while the drug, taking effect, deadened 
limbs and faculties. Then he crept back to his 
place at the table, pushed aside his half-finished 
cup, picked up his half-finished newspaper article. 
He sat with furrowed, leathery skin and glazed 
eyes, reading in the ridicule. The clock ticked 
audibly from the mantelpiece. 

A springing footfall was heard upon the porch 
outside. An intimate hand was on the door. There 
was a sharp, swift rustling as of paper being fierce- 
ly crushed. 

“Come in,” cried Joseph May. 

When Daniel entered there was no sign of news- 
paper or disturbance. The former lay close-hid- 
den against the drugged breast. 

“ Good yuntoff ” said Daniel cheerily, searching 
the whole room with a glance. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 161 


“ Good y untoff” returned Joseph, putting down 
his lifted cup. “ What news this morning? ” 

“ Have you not read the news as usual? ” 

“ Ho. My paper was stole this morning. You 
can tell me all what you know while we go.” 

Out of the Ghetto, out of the hitter oppression 
and its consequent suppression, came to the chil- 
dren of the Book a peculiar power — the baffling, 
triumphant power of Silence at need. 

But long before and after his father sat in the 
synagogue striving to straighten the snarl out of 
his soul, Dr. May was busy bandaging broken bones 
that three or four men might walk straight. The 
day proved a very busy one for him. Before dawn 
he had been called in consultation over the broken 
ribs and limbs of a woman inmate of a sanitarium, 
who had discovered that happiness was to he found 
only “ in the long run,” and had tried to compass 
the stretch — through the window — only to make a 
failure of death as she had of life, — and the hours 
following his grim task with her afforded him 
little leisure. 

It was a very jaded memory which recalled the 
events of the two preceding nights while he stood 
waiting to he shaved by his barber before going 
home to dine. He remembered them then, out of 


162 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


the press of the day’s work, more in connection with 
the fact that he felt small inclination to keep his 
promise to take Lilian Otis to the private view of 
some late acquisition at the Hopkins Art Institute. 
He had, it is true, noticed an insubordinate de- 
meanor among his students during the clinic of the 
afternoon, but, in his innocence, had referred it to 
the tense state of his own nerves, and let it pass 
without rebuke. 

It was only now, at this last hour of daylight, 
while he stood indifferently scanning the morning’s 
paper, that the truth laughed in upon him through 
a staring, jocose headline. 

He read it to the end. The article, for all its 
kindly humor, was degrading from first to last word. 
To be held up to the ridicule of the public gaze 
as if in the very act of crawling into a place pla- 
carded with “ Ho admittance ” for such as he, was 
an indignity utterly confounding to his proud re- 
serve. Moreover he was dumfounded. When he 
left Stephen Forrest the night before, he had felt 
assured that his insolent threat had been but an ill- 
humored jest without intention. The last glimpse 
of Jean Willard’s face had brought the inflamed 
artist to a brutal straightforwardness which left no 
room for doubt. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 163 


“ Enough has been said,” he had flung in re- 
sponse to the physician’s command to halt. “ A 
scene is a bore, hut a rehashing of it in any form is 
abhorrent. A dash of a saving sense of humor 
would have saved all of us from an awkward leave- 
taking — and I think we both understand that the 
case is closed, Dr. May. Good night.” 

Philip’s dogged sense of justice acquitted For- 
rest fully and freely of any complicity in this liter- 
ary thrust, while quickly snatching at the possibil- 
ity that it had leaked out through one of the count- 
less, uncounted exits for such an occurrence in such 
a place; 

His father found him curiously silent. He found 
his father curiously loquacious. After two minutes 
together each had fathomed the other without an 
explanatory word, and Philip, looking into the 
flushed, excited old face, locked his conscience into 
deeper dungeons. 

“ You had better go to bed early,” he brought 
himself to say as he rose from the table. “ You seem 
nervous. I’m sorry I have an engagement.” 

But once upon the street on the way to the Otis 
mansion, calm in his worldly, non-committalism, 
he was conscious of a peculiar duality of personal- 
ity — as though he, Philip May, were criticising the 


164 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


manner in which Philip May was about to play his 
role under Miss Otis’s enlightened eyes. They had 
been very flattering eyes, very gentle and womanly 
when looking into his but two days back — they had 
half-revealed, half -withheld a story, the reading of 
which Philip May had been idly postponing, but 
which he promised himself he would glance into 
to-night, though he suddenly realized, with a sense 
of surprise, that he was more curious than con- 
cerned. 

He was admitted directly into her presence. He 
was not quite clear as to what he had expected in 
regard to her attire, but there was something about 
hers as she came toward him which caught his 
attention. 

“ Are you quite well? ” he asked, taking the tips 
of her fingers in his hand. 

“Dear me — why so professional?” she smiled 
from the edge of her lips, the baffling brilliancy 
of her eyes clouding for an instant as she looked up 
into his strong, quiet face. She was affecting an 
unfamiliar little drawl which brought an amused 
gleam to his eyes. “ Or is it merely courtesy. Be- 
cause I’m not very well to-night. You see I am 
dressed to stay at home. It was too late to send you 
word when I felt the headache coming on.” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 165 


She had used this device- before to keep him 
alone with her. But to-night neither her attitude 
nor her eyes asked him to stay. She stood, appar- 
ently careless of covering over the awkwardness of 
her cold, waiting laugh which his keen ear inter- 
preted as a polite dismissal. 

He smiled in disconcerting comprehension. 

“ Then I shall have to go down alone,” he said. 
“ DonT let me keep you any longer than necessary. 
I am sorry.” 

“ Yes, it is too bad.” 

“ Good night.” 

“ Good night.” 

Well! That was neatly dispatched. He drew a 
breath of admiration when he stood again without 
in the night, and almost laughed aloud. 

Unmistakably well done — clearly, concisely, 
and without ado. 

But upon what verdict had the order for his 
social quarantining been issued? Jew — or hypo- 
crite? 

Hypocrite? How? In presenting his creden- 
tials of simple manhood without an irrelevant pedi- 
gree, without the “ And Abraham begat Isaac — and 
Isaac begat Jacob” — etc., etc. 

— And Joseph begat Philip. 


166 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


How Philip was a Jew — ? 

Jew? How? 

Christ-killer. 

The child’s incomprehensibility was at last 
answered in the mocking irony of the man. 

Yet deep within, beneath his bitterly flippant 
scoring, he could feel the clamor and tumult in 
his breast apprising him that not only had he a role 
to play, but a life to live. And the possibility of 
an unsought isolation laughed grimly and sicken- 
ingly before him. He was too young, too healthy, 
too full of unproven powers, too much in love with 
his fellows and their approbation, to view the pros- 
pect with equanimity. Lilian Otis, he knew, was 
nothing more to him than a pleasant part of his 
social plan, but for several interminable moments 
his soul felt homeless and seedy — a veritable tramp 
of a soul that longed to vanish for a space out of the 
eye of a former high estate. 

Yet he reached his own door hating the thought 
that, for a second, it should appear to him as a 
refuge. What had happened to him? Bah! he was 
still Philip May — the man. He felt the quiet 
smile of conscious power upon his lips. The inci- 
dent — folly, perhaps — was closed. Life, strong, 
earnest, lay all before him. He walked quietly 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 167 


upstairs, abstractedly conscious of his father’s voice 
escaping through the closed door of the sitting- 
room, and made his way toward his own apartments 
at the back of the house. 

His study was cloaked in darkness, its windows 
thrown wide to the night. As he entered the room, 
he stopped short just over the threshold. 

At the farther window of the other house, just 
facing his, sat Jean Willard, her face peculiarly 
softened by the night, by a strange pale sadness 
shadowing it. 

His pulses gave a happy bound toward her. 
The wild, surmising words of the painter swept 
blindly through his memory — as though, in one 
flash, God had said, "Let there be light,” and 
there was — Jean. And in one flash, here, beyond 
the dazzling vanity of his social pretensions, in this 
back-window of his life, he saw that she was per- 
fect for love. Saw himself closer to her than the 
arm’s breadth dividing her window from his. What 
if — . He was facing her. 

She neither saw nor heard him; she sat looking 
away, her elbows on the sill, her chin resting on her 
clasped hands. 

He leaned against the casement, bent nearer to 
her, and whispered through the night: 


168 HEIES OF YESTERDAY 


“ Jean — sweet! ” His voice reached her in a 
music of overpowering yearning. 

She started violently, sprang to her feet, her 
low rocking-chair swinging wildly back into the 
shadowy room. 

She stood upright and stiff before him, yet with 
every nerve a-quiver. There would be no feigning 
here, no lip-service to the conventions from this 
daughter of an intense, a tragic people. And he 
understood her with that same dim sense of kin- 
ship which had assailed him before — kinship with 
a nature in its depths direct and stern and serious. 

“No,” he said swiftly, “do not misjudge me. 
If the light of the words spoken last night has — ” 

But he had not gauged her wholly. He realized 
it as her white, fierce face struck through the night, 
silencing him. 

“ You would not dare,” she breathed, all her 
passionate soul flaming to her eyes, her romantic 
little head thrown back intolerantly, “ you would 
not dare to imagine you owe me something on the 
score of that outrage. I credited you at least with 
the surface delicacy of a gentleman. But — but 
since you have gone so far, I will not evade its un- 
speakableness. I want you to understand just 
what that man meant, lest you gull yourself with 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 169 


another supreme pretension ” — she rushed on 
heedlessly, her words tumbling pell-mell upon each 
other — “ under the fallacy of a distorted report. 
Don't misunderstand me — I am neither ashamed 
nor afraid of the truth — for there was some truth 
in that man’s charge, hut not as your egotism must 
interpret it. Let me make clear to you the bond be- 
tween your house and mine. You — you know what 
those two old men down there are to each other — 
you know the God they worship and which you 
ignore — hut possibly you do not know the house- 
hold god of clay they had set up for themselves 
through all the years of your strange, unnatural 
absence — you do not know that they had made 
your name the watchword and hope and pride of 
their wistful lives — you did not know with what 
fanatic joy they had waited for your return. And 
I am linked to them, I followed their lead, I ac- 
cepted their fetiches — I bowed to their idea of you, 
and it was this idea of a man captaining his own 
life through his own honest, splendid powers that 
I loved — not you — never you — and even you, in 
the slight knowledge you have of me, must know 
that for you, Philip May in the flesh, you whose 
loyalty to a dying friend I sentimentally weighed 
in your favor against the needs of an old father, 


170 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


for yon who dare to despise your people of whom 
you know nothing whatsoever, for you, Philip May, 
coward, egoist, and snob, I have nothing but utter 
detestation and contempt.” 

She paused, trembling, ashen to the lips, over- 
mastered by the storm of her contention, overleap- 
ing all hounds in her desperate self-defense. She 
met his gaze intolerantly. 

He was studying her quietly. How her little 
rushlight knowledge, her drawing-room ethics, her 
pulpit-broad judgments, glowed through and 
transfigured her! But her passion had stirred 
something elemental, overwhelming him as the 
other girl’s controlled evasion never could have 
done. She stood before him, lovely and forbidding 
— at once his conscience and despair. 

“You are mistaken in my motive,” he an- 
swered, gently. “ But at any rate, in your grand 
sum total of me, we are, for this moment, quite 
at one.” 

She turned from him into the dark. 

And downstairs, as though above the cackle of 
the disinterested, Joseph May was holding forth, 
against all the world. “I tell you, Daniel,” he 
cried, pounding the table in his emphasis, “ all the 
doctors in the city is talking about him. You 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 171 


know what Thallman says to me yesterday? ‘ Mr. 
May/ he says, ‘ we’ll all he breaking our necks just 
to see Dr. May get in some of his clever work/ 
And, by Gott! he meant it. He’s young, hut he’s 
on the top already. Say, Daniel, what did I always 
tell you? — a prince, a vahre prince! ” He swag- 
gered, he strutted, with expanded chest and danger- 
ously flushed cheeks. The cards lay in disorder 
upon the table. The old man measured the floor 
with restless feet, talking Daniel down and out of 
all confidence. There was no shame to he found 
here, no knuckling down under the world’s coarse 
thumb. He had played his part of know-nothing 
throughout the day even to the deceiving of his 
friend, hut at the last hour he was overdoing it, 
and Daniel saw through the fierce pride of it. He 
longed to tell him to hush, he had tried to leave 
him, hoping the excited heart might find rest in 
sleep, hut Joseph’s insistence forbade it, Joseph’s 
bravado demanded he sit there silent, and blind, 
and deaf to the truth. 

“Do you know, Joseph,” he ventured, finally, 
“ I feel a little tired? And you, don’t you think it 
time for two little children like you and me to he 
in bed? Me, I am a little tired.” 

“So? I never felt younger in all my life. But 


172 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


then, you see, my son he is my tonic.” He laughed 
boisterously. 

“ It may he. I hope so. I was glad he came 
in, even for a little while, last night.” 

“And why he shouldn’t come in? You make 
me sick sometimes, Daniel, when you speak about 
nothing like if it was something wonderful.” He 
glared a moment, then laughed weakly. “ Well, 
my hoy, when you are sleepy you can go home. 
For me, I think I will wait a little for Philip.” 

“ Well, good night, Joseph. Sleep well.” 

“ Good night, Daniel. To-morrow afternoon I 
think I’ll go me a little to the club. I don’t know 
when I had a game at the club. You can tell 
Jean — when there is something good at the the- 
ay-ter this week — she can get seats for you and me. 
I don’t know when I was to the the-ay-ter.” 


CHAPTER X 


Philip May stepped out of his peculiar social 
fiasco into the work of the next day. Released 
from his vain, guarded intimacy with the Otises, 
unfettered by any other distracting personal ties, 
he was free to apply all his thought and strength 
to the chosen field in which he felt himself master. 
And making his rounds from patient to patient, 
from hospital to office, often passing half the night 
in the operating-room, there was little left to recall 
him to the memory or regret of a trivial social 
defeat, save the figure of a girl passing him with 
averted gaze, and the furrow-browed old man 
who had drawn so close to him in his social seclu- 
sion that his bearing might have been called ten- 
derness in a more demonstrative nature. His total 
aloofness from club and drawing-room life soon 
carried the story of his derided self-valuation 
beyond the gabble and concern of current gossip. 

Even Jean Willard, after her first fierce sob- 
bing regret had spent itself, striving to shrug down 
the painful memory of her impetuous part in it, 
i73 


174 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


asked herself wearily what it would matter — to 
anyone — a hundred years hence! Not much, truly. 
Infinity is wide and the gods do exquisitely fine 
work. But to Jean — then — much. It is never a 
question of a hundred years, or months, or weeks, 
or days hence — it is always a question of now, of 
to-day, with its storm and stress, its laughter and 
tears, its mistakes and achievements, its hopes and 
despairs. That alone concerns us. We cannot 
shift our burdens and responsibilities with a shrug. 
To earnest minds like Jean Willard’s, there is no 
such thing as resignation or indifference. Human- 
ity climbs upward with a groan, and the history 
of individuals, as of nations, is the record of a few 
passionate moments of striving — of love or hate, 
of defeat or victory. 

Who, questioned Jean, in her self-scourging, 
had constituted her his judge? Who was she that 
she had dared to hold the mirror to his face? In 
her hitter self -prosecution she forgot her instigat- 
ing excuses; in trying to he just, she heat herself 
into seeing through his eyes. But quite oblivious 
to her mental captivity or the loss of her old inde- 
pendence of opinion, she began to think, to speak, 
through Philip May’s intuitively surmised tastes 
and distastes. Her friends found her changed, 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 175 


intolerant, hypercritical. She thought she was 
piercing through the familiar face of things down 
to their truth in relation^to the whole world — and 
growing sadder in her knowledge. The dream 
being knocked from under her, the plunge into 
reality left her in that state of despairing 
pessimism common to all young people until they 
get their bearings, when they find that another 
view is never the whole view. 

Everything and everybody within her range of 
observation, from the idiosyncrasies of her nearest 
to those of the scarcely noticeable Jewish passer-by, 
revealed another justifiable peg to hand Philip’s so- 
cial apostasy upon. Nothing was too sacred or too 
low to escape her half-frightened scrutiny — and 
presently she found herself contorted into Philip 
May’s ally, a spy to all her own and her friends’ 
movements and motives. Formerly, she told her- 
self cynically, she saw as through a glass — rosily; 
now, face to face. And she called it Revelation. 
But there was one phase of her stand which she 
fully appreciated. Where Philip May had found 
his excuse for withdrawal, she had found only 
another claim upon her loyalty. Philip May had 
taken a snap-shot at the unattractive face turned 
up to him, and looked away from it with frank 


176 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


and frigid disfavor. But the snap-shot being 
passed on to J ean, though she recognized the linea- 
ments, she stood immovable beside it, passing over 
it her tender, protecting hand. 

“ I hate him,” she told herself when in thi3 
attitude of defiance. 

But closer, more poignant than these imper- 
sonal inconsistencies battling within her, was the 
memory of his voice whispering to her across the 
night. It hushed all her old high voices, it crushed 
through the idealist to her imperfect humanity, it 
drew her as the pole the star, it made all else as 
the writing in the sand, and she followed, fol- 
lowed — till, setting her teeth in imagination, she 
saw the possible chivalrous motive behind his act, 
and turned intolerantly from its insufferable sug- 
gestion. 

Moreover, her most strenuous effort to dismiss 
him from thought was wasted through the nature 
of their propinquity. If, in passing from his sight 
that night, she had put him out of her life, she 
might have laid the ghost of the memory. This, 
however, was denied her. Day after day they met 
on the doorstep as both were coming in or going 
out, day after day their eyes might have met as he 
stepped from his carriage and she came out of her 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 177 


front door. But, as if by mutual consent, they 
avoided the visual encounter, though Jean knew 
distinctly enough that his eyes had held her. And 
there was a charm of misery about these avoided 
encounters, which she, in another inconsistency, 
realized with relentless self-contempt. Though 
she gave herself up to the gospel of constant occu- 
pation, she could not separate herself from warring 
thought of him. The very walls of the house next 
door held a sinister attraction for her, as though 
his association with them had imbued them with 
something of his personality. 

But the interior of the walls knew her no more — 
she had effectually barred herself out of them. 
The two old men, her friends, were cognizant of 
this, each in his own degree. Her uncle viewed 
her changed attitude with stern sadness, but in 
Joseph May’s silent heart a bitter animosity had 
arisen against the girl. He knew the kernel of 
justice within that garbled newspaper jeer, but 
how could she have known? And since this alone, 
this shadow of an alien hand, had been enough for 
her to condemn — then enough of her! He held 
her at arm’s length now, the girl who had been the 
darling of those long since forsaken hopes. In the 
beginning Jean had striven to bridge over the 


178 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


hiatus in her attentions by an added warmth of 
tenderness when they met, but, with a curious dig- 
nity of reticence, Joseph May chilled her into a 
stranger. He stood so close to his son in his part- 
deliberate, part-inevitable retirement, that a con- 
temptuous thought in the latter’s direction 
included the old man in its sting. He declined to 
accompany them on their summer trip through the 
beautiful southern part of the State, although 
Daniel reminded him that he was breaking a 
promise. 

“ What I shall do there? ” he asked, with a 
shrug. “ I did enough traveling when I had to, 
with my pack on — The father of his son inter- 
rupted the reminiscence. 

Upon the return of the Willards, the former 
relations between the two old friends were 
resumed, and almost nightly they might have been 
seen taking their stroll in the lingering light of 
the lovely summer evenings, sometimes accom- 
panied by the slender girl, who often willfully shut 
her eyes to Joseph’s uncompromising distance of 
manner, conducting herself as though nothing had 
ever come between them. Thus a woman loiters 
on between the seen and the unseen, though only 
the seen, unbroken line is called her life. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 179 


That the flashing confusion of that Passover 
evening had left an ineffaceable impression in 
another conscience, Jean discovered one golden 
morning in early September while out shopping 
with Laura Brookman. They had about com- 
pleted some order at Vickery’s when the sales- 
man, knowing their artistic proclivities, asked 
them to step for a minute into the little picture- 
gallery at the hack of the shop. 

“Mr. Stephen Forrest has a few canvases on 
exhibition, and I think his work will interest you,” 
he said. “ He is going abroad next week, and it’s 
a pleasure to see him at last getting the apprecia- 
tion he deserves. Most of the pictures have been 
sold.” He ushered them into the soft glow of 
light, and left them. 

There were not many, and all were studies of 
heads, hut the peculiar power of character-insight 
displayed was smiting. Jean, lost in unbiased 
admiration before a subtle Chinese face, was 
abruptly dragged from her place by a compelling 
hand upon her arm. 

“ Come over here,” murmured Mrs. Brookman, 
excitedly, leading her before a tiny painting almost 
lost among the others. “When did you sit — or 


180 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


stand — for this? What does that expression 
mean? ” 

Jean stood before the proud, sad protest of her 
own face as Stephen Forrest’s inward light had 
seen fit to transfer her. 

“ What are you defying — what is it called? I 
must have that/’ Laura declared, enthusiastically. 
“ It is you in one of your most charming, unap- 
proachable phases. I wonder if it is sold.” 

“ The picture is not for sale,” said a sudden 
cool, low voice behind them. J ean, recognizing it 
at once, did not turn, but Laura veered eagerly 
upon the delicate-visaged artist standing near. 

“ Are you sure? ” she asked, doubtingly. 

“ Quite. It is mine.” 

“Do you — then you can tell me what it is 
called? ” 

“ ‘ The Jewess.’ ” 

“ Oh! ” Laura’s eyes scanned it again with light- 
ening vision. “ And the attitude — I was wonder- 
ing what she was defying.” 

“ Prejudice.” 

“ Ah! ” Laura raised her lorgnon again. 

Jean turned swiftly about. “I congratulate 
you,” she said, abruptly. 

The blood surged to his brow. “ For this? ” he 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 181 


pleaded, indistinctly, designating the picture 
before them. 

“ I thank you for that. I congratulate you on 
the others. I wish you all success. Are you com- 
ing, Laura? ” 

Mrs. Brookman followed her into the street. 

“ Was that Stephen Forrest?” she asked, curi- 
ously, as they turned westward. 

“ Yes.” 

“ When did you pose for him — whose idea was 
it? Tell me about it.” 

“ There’s nothing to tell. It was done from 
memory.” 

“How curt you are! What is the matter with 
you?” 

“ Nothing — only I’m dead tired.” 

“Jean — I mean, perhaps we had better take 
the car.” 

“No. You said you wanted to walk — to keep 
your figure within decent dimensions.” Her eyes 
traveled over her friend’s well-corseted form. 
“ How stiffly you lace yourself in,” she observed, 
absently, as they walked on at a rapid pace. 

“I haven’t your willowy ease, dear, I know, 
and I have to keep my weight and my hips down — 


182 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


or your eyes will be calling me * J ewess,’ from 
another light.” 

Jean laughed shortly. 

Laura stole a swift glance at her. 

“What is the matter with you, Jean?” she 
begged, finally. “You have grown so moody of 
late I scarcely recognize you.” 

J ean forgot to answer. 

“Dear, I want to ask you something,” Mrs. 
Brookman began presently, a ring of stubborn pur- 
pose in her voice. 

“Ask away, Laura.” 

“ You met a man at my house one night — ” 

“ And that’s all.” 

“ No, it isn’t. And now that I’ve begun, you’re 
not going to silence me with your * that’s all ’ — 
it is difficult enough broaching a subject of this 
kind with you. What are you going to do with 
Theodore Hart? Oh, wouldn’t I like to shake 
you with that indifferent look on your face! ” 

“ How can you feel so violent and talk so 
much — on such a warm day? ” 

“Very well. If you can no longer be direct 
with me — ” 

“ I told you — I met a man at your house, and 
that’s all.” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 183 


“Not according to his view. What do you 
object to in him? ” 

“ Him.” 

“What can you see against him ? 39 

“ His face.” 

“ Oh, I know he’s not Apollo, but you have 
managed to care for some homelier people in your 
life — Paul Stein, for instance.” 

“ Paul is beautiful — to me. Don’t put his face 
in the same category with Theodore Hart’s.” 

“What is so repugnant to you in Theodore 
Hart’s face? ” 

“ The past.” 

“Bosh! Every man has a past or two. Were 
you raised in a nunnery?” 

“No. A man — my uncle, you know, raised me.” 

“ Too high, sweet, for comfort. And you know 
the best posterity is being made now from the 
power of riches. That is where the philosophy — 
the religion of mammonism comes in.” 

“Do you think so?” 

“ Great God, there you persist — ” 

“ Don’t be so exaggerated in your exclamations ; 
it’s blasphemous to begin with, and dreadfully 
Jewish to end with.” 

Mrs. Brookman regarded the girl with a smile 


184 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


of curiosity. “ Do you know you have said such 
things to me very often lately? What is it? 
Another effect of Philip May’s ridiculous act of 
disdain? ” 

Silence gathered around Jean’s heart and lips. 

“ You look exactly like that picture now. But 
to come back to our discussion. Leaving out what 
you choose to call his past, will you admit his 
desirability from every other point of view? ” 

“ According to society’s valuation — yes.” 

“ Don’t forget that his connections are irre- 
proachable, and in the matter of connections, 
esthetically speaking, a Jew or Jewess generally 
takes risks when she marries. And do you know 
the power of great wealth? ” 

“ I have never tested it — I can imagine it, how- 
ever. I admit it is a very tempting vision.” 

“ At last we come to the point. And you know 
it is yours — for a word.” 

Jean slowly turned her eyes upon her friend. 
There was something so quietly hopeless in her 
gaze that the older woman felt the dew spring to 
her brow. “ So you too are an advocate of these 
legalized prostitutions,” the girl said, wearily. 

Mrs. Brookman’s burning cheek turned quietly 
gray. “ How naive,” she returned, with a forced 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 185 


laugh. “At that rate, half the young women of 
your acquaintance are — that’s a hateful word, 
J ean.” 

“More hateful than the thing itself? Do let 
us call things by their right names, Laura. Oh, 
don’t imagine I condemn them in the gross. Some 
of them walk into it innocently enough — they 
know nothing different or better, poor, dear, little, 
happy things. It is only those who do know about 
whom I feel rather contemptuous.” 

“ Still hitching your wagon to a higher star! ” 

“ I was born that way — brought up that way,” 
resisted Jean, passionlessly. “ The copy-books used 
to say it was a good way.” 

“Oh, the copy-books. But aren’t you afraid 
you may finally choose a falling star — and have a 
tumble — and get hurt?” 

“Yes,” answered Jean, her lips closing like a 
seal over the word. 

“It is better to choose a post — it is safer.” 

“No,” answered Jean, quietly. 

The spot of color burned up again in Mrs. 
Brookman’s cheek. “ You put yourself above the 
plane of life,” she said, harshly. “ You will come 
down — some day.” 

( ‘I hope not,” 


186 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ Oh, you hope not. Do you know what hope 
is?” 

“ I forget — it used to be in those stupid copy- 
books. It’s out of print now.” 

“ Heavens — pardon, that’s J ewish — but what a 
thing to say! ” 

"Well, what is hope?” 

" Hope, Jean, is only winged, or, rather, blind 
desire. It has neither feet nor eyes. Use a more 
tangible argument.” 

"Well, then, I will not. Is that enough?” 
Her quick, hot temper blazed momentarily in a 
flash of her eyes. 

“ Many fools have said that,” persisted Laura 
Brookman. 

“ Then I am one of many. Let me alone.” 

“ But they all came down — by and by,” the 
ironical voice pursued. “ They started out glo- 
rious and free — as you — those fool girls. They 
said — as you are saying to yourself — somewhere in 
the world I shall meet some one who shall be all 
in all to me, who shall king it over me as I shall 
queen it over him — and all that romantic stuff — 
whose thoughts and hopes and aspirations and 
loves and desires shall be like unto mine as flowers 
sprung from the same seed are like unto each 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 187 


other — and we shall be one, as the Lord God is 
one, comprising all things. They went as far as to 
think the thing sacred — poor imbeciles. And some 
of them never met the other, and some of them 
found it all a delusion, and some of them found — 
just life.” 

“ And then P ” Something clutched Jean by the 
throat as she listened — something passionately per- 
sonal, unspoken, beneath the dreary generality of 
the spoken. 

“ And then they took the next best that came 
along — some soon, some later, some fighting it out 
to the vain end, hut they all gave in finally. And 
some of them found it was best, not second best, 
but best.” 

Why?” 

“ Because there are other sides to a woman’s 
soul which need fulfilling — and fate proved kinder 
to them than it once seemed it ever meant to be. 
It’s not all a giving and having, this bundle of 
emotions called womanhood — it’s a being, too, and 
every woman is potentially other things besides a 
lover — a mother, for instance. And the senti- 
mental regret is forgotten when she presses her 
cheek to her child’s, and she finds she has nothing 
to regret when she has provided her child with the 


188 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


wherewithal for all the complex needs of life, 
including a good father, who is also a good and 
loving husband, for whom, through a wise provi- 
sion in the virtuous feminine make-up, she feels 
nothing but tenderness and loyalty. And then she 
understands that perhaps her dream went wrong 
for the sake of a wider plan.” Gradually the intense 
vibration in the voice had subsided till the 
sound was like a peaceful, monotonous lilt. She 
was gazing impassively ahead. 

Suddenly she felt the girl’s distended eyes upon 
her. “For heaven’s sake, Jean,” she laughed, 
“don’t stare at me with that tragic face. Has 
the bottom fallen out of your sky? I was just talk- 
ing highfalutin’ for the occasion — letting yjou 
know that there is generally some nameless first 
affair lying among the hie jacets of most hearts, 
so as to give you the courage of a sense of compan- 
ionship — just giving you a little impromptu on 
the eternal theme — love with variations.” She 
laughed merrily. “ Are you ready for the wedding 
to-morrow? My gown is a dream. I may send the 
carriage around for you first so as to give my lazy 
man a few minutes’ grace. What will you wear? 
Which hat did you choose? ” 

“My tan cloth. I took the black velvet hat 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 189 


with the plumes. Who will he there worth dress- 
ing for — Paul?” 

"Paul? I suppose so — he and Dr. Thallman 
have grown quite intimate. I suppose some of the 
doctor’s confreres will be there, hut I’m sorry, for 
your sake, that Theodore Hart is not acquainted.” 
She laughed a teasing laugh. 

Jearn carried an aching sense of its artificiality 
into the house with her. She carried it with her 
the next day to Dr. Thallman’s wedding, where 
they found Paul Stein waiting for them at the foot 
of the stairs before entering the already crowded, 
rose-breathing drawing-room. She found herself 
twisting the memory of his and Laura’s old college 
friendship and his long grind against poverty into 
the golden glamour which Charles Brookman had 
so successfully flung around her. The materiality 
of it all sickened Jean, even while she listened to 
the simple, earnest service which “ maketh the 
bridegroom to rejoice with the bride.” She 
scarcely noticed when the ring was placed, the 
beautiful blessing spoken, the binding kiss given. 

She was brought to earth by a sudden buzz of 
joyousness and the merry pressing forward to con- 
gratulate the smiling pair under the canopy of 
roses. 


190 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ Oh, Mrs. Weiss,” she laughed, stepping hack. 
“ I almost threw you. Won’t you stand in my 
place? I am going to wait with the less intimate. 
How well you are looking.” She slipped aside to 
let the pudgy old lady wedge herself in. 

Mrs. Weiss grasped her arm. “You like my 
bonnet? ” confided the fat, coaxing voice, while 
the fat, comfortable hands folded themselves in 
white-gloved comfort over the fat, comfortable 
stomach. “ You see, I got no daughter to tell me, 
and my Sam — what he knows about bonnets? He 
says, f Ma, you’re a peach,’ and he kisses me, and 
that settles it. I only bought it yesterday — on 
aggravation. I told my milliner to put regrets in 
it, but she used her own conveyance and put a 
feather in instead. And you really think I look 
nice in it so, Miss Willard? ” 

A girl behind Jean giggled and the latter 
had some ado to keep her own lips in order. “ It 
is truly a very pretty bonnet,” Jean pleasantly 
assured her. 

“ And you got good taste, too,” nodded Mrs. 
Weiss, approvingly, her eyes traveling over the 
exquisite grace of the girl’s toilet. “ Wait a min- 
ute — I want to tell you that that baker Schwab 
is out of work again. The Sisterhood is tired of 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 191 


finding places for him what he don’t keep. But 
say, Miss Willard, four little children, and that 
schlemielich wife of his who is too proud to work 
because she was educated in a cemetery! ” 

“ We’ll have to find something for him,” said 
Jean, lightly. “ You and I’ll take a tramp among 
the bakers to-morrow morning.” 

a Oh, yes, take a tramp! You know how old 
my legs is, my dear? Seventy-two yesterday. They 
don’t go like they used to, hut I guess they’re 
always good for one tramp more. All right, you 
come get me to-morrow morning then. Ain’t it the 
bride looks sweet? ” 

The cooing, contented voice moved on. 

Jean met the merry eyes of a tall, slender young 
woman, unmistakably a Gentile, whom she recog- 
nized as Miss Goyne, an old classmate and intimate 
friend of the bride. 

“ Wasn’t she quaint?” laughed Miss Goyne, in 
low-voiced delight. 

Jean thought Miss Goyne’s euphemism deli- 
cious, and laughed responsively. “ She’s a dear 
old soul,” she said. 

“ It is so interesting,” the girl babbled on, with 
bright eyes. “ You know Cecile and I are old 
schoolmates, but after we left school our social 


192 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


ways separated somewhat, though Cecile and I 
would not give each other up for the world. And 
I am always so interested in everything she tells 
me about her friends.” 

Unconsciously, there was that in her tone which 
suggested the “ citizen ” speaking of the 
“ stranger.” J ean felt it, and a little amused 
smile, horn of a memory of just such a smile on 
Philip May’s lips, showed a tiny edge of her teeth. 
Miss Goyne thought her quiet. But she also found 
hers the most attractive personality present, and 
being slightly acquainted with her, decided to 
attach herself to her during the “ interesting ” 
occasion. 

“ Oh,” exclaimed the girl below her breath, 
“ there is Dr. May. Do you know him? I think — ” 
She paused to how. “ He is looking straight at us. 
I think he is so distinguished-looking, don’t you? 
I met him at the Otises’ — Dr. Otis, you know — 
and we all thought him so charming until that 
horrid newspaper article appeared.” 

“ And then you ceased to find him charming? ” 

"Well, you know how it is. We think very 
little of a man who is ashamed of his religion, of 
course. We all respect you so much and think it 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 193 


is lovely of you when you keep up the forms and 
everything.” 

“ That is nice of you,” said Jean, pleasantly. 
She knew that “ condescending ” or “ consistent ” 
would have better expressed her acknowledgment 
of the girl’s estimate, but graciously chose the 
more gracious epithet. 

“We -were so surprised,” confided Miss Goyne, 
gently. “ You see he has none of the character- 
istics — ” 

“ Caricaturistics,” corrected Jean, with a soft 
laugh in her eyes. 

“What? Oh!” She hesitated, smiled vaguely 
in response to Jean’s playful smile, but was saved 
any further interpretation by a sudden swaying 
sensation which separated them abruptly. 

The next instant the house was shaken like a 
rat in the clutch of a terrier, chandeliers swung 
violently from side to side, bells jangled, windows 
and porcelain rattled, dogs barked wildly in the 
street. . . . The swaying subsided. It had 

lasted exactly seventeen seconds — a lifetime of 
mortal terror, as many of the unconscious appeals 
to the Great Unknown testified. J ean found her- 
self in the doorway, her hand upon Philip May’s 
arm, his hand over hers. 


194 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ You were frightened/’ he said, quietly, his 
eyes upon her pale face. 

“ An earthquake always frightens me,” she said, 
in a trembling voice. 

“ Come with me,” he murmured. “ Let me get 
you something — ” 

“ Ho, no. Thank you. I am all right.” She 
drew her hand from his and turned away. 

“ Well,” laughed a familiar voice above the hys- 
terical hubbub, while Paul Stein’s long arms 
stretched above several lower heads and drew her 
into a corner, “that was a close call, friend 
o’ mine.” 

“They always seem to be,” she answered, 
through pale lips. 

“ I’m not speaking of the shake-up, but of what 
would have proven a shake-down on your head of 
that bust over the door if Dr. May hadn’t caught 
it in time. Come, get some color into your face 
again; it’s all over, and everybody’s safe. Listen, 
the musicians are triumphing over our fear. Shall 
I get you something to drink? ” 

“Ho; please don’t notice me, Paul. Talk 
away, there’s a dear fellow.” 

“ I was just wondering what was the reason of 
his, Dr. May’s, being here, and had about con- 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 195 


eluded it was mere professional etiquette, Thall- 
man being, or having been, his fathers physician — 
but now I see it was only to save your precious 
head. Some one behind me — I think it was that 
delightfully ubiquitous Sam Weiss — was pointing 
him out to some girl as ‘the Jew who would be 
Gentile/ quite in the spirit in which the Gentiles 
flogged him through the press, and so saved Weiss 
his vengeance — I hope. If you’d turn your head, 
Jean, you’d see how he seems to outman every 
other man present. Candidly, my inclinations 
yearn toward him. I’m ashamed to say it, in that 
he hath done what he hath done — because, though, 
in the eye of the world, when a man sins he pun- 
ishes himself only, yet when a Jew steps aside he 
drags the whole race after him, and we are always 
answered with our own old clan cry, ‘ Responsible 
one for the other.’ There, I’ve talked you back 
into some likeness of yourself. How our distin- 
guished subject of conversation and Dr. Suther- 
land, I believe, are offering their congratulations 
and — actually taking leave, after a necessary 
attendance of half an hour. Shall we speak to 
the Thallmans now? ” 

As they moved forward, Jean was startled by 
Philip May’s flashing, deliberate gaze straight into 


196 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


her eyes. It mastered her completely. She could 
not regain her old attitude of defiance toward him. 
She tried to tell herself that her womanish yielding 
to its magnetism was due to the fact that he had 
put out his hand to save her head from a possibly 
ugly blow. 

“ I should have gone back and thanked him 
after Paul told me/’ she said to herself, hours 
afterward, when alone. “ Now it is awkward. And 
then we’re not on speaking terms. Besides, he 
would have done it for any one else. Yes, but 
that doesn’t alter the fact that he did it for me. 
It’s stupid and gauche not to acknowledge it. I 
must. I will. Still, perhaps there’s no neces- 
sity — he doesn’t know that I know. But I do 
know. Oh, dear, I hate to he in his debt, and a 
mere ‘ thank you ’ would have — . I — I could write 
him a note.” 

She hid her eyes, trembling at the thought of 
putting herself in communication with him, not 
realizing the longing at the bottom of her reluc- 
tance. 

“ One can be as short and formal as one wishes 
in a note,” she assured herself, and seated herself 
before her desk. She began at once: 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 197 


Dr. Philip May, 

Dear Sir, — 

“ That’s ridiculous,” she said, bluntly, with 
flushed cheeks and stern brows. “ What then? 
Dear Dr. May? That need not mean that he is 
‘dear’ to me — not at all. It is only the usual 
impersonal address to an acquaintance.” 

She began again : 

Dear Dr. May, 

I did not know until later that you had saved me 
from what might have proven a serious accident. I 
wish to thank you for it now. 

Yours truly, 

Thursday. Jean Willard. 

“Nasty little thing,” she apostrophized, read- 
ing it over, and her eyes filled. Nevertheless she 
sent it. 

He received it the following day as he was 
about to leave his office. He smiled gently over 
its simplicity. 

“ Poor little girl, she thought she had to — and 
it was a wrench,” he reflected, appreciating to the 
full the girlish dignity of the few cold phrases. 
“ Not a superfluous word. Shall I answer it? Cer- 
tainly.” 

But it was not so easy a matter as he supposed. 
An honest answer would have proven a virtual 


198 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


avowal of love — a mad, grotesque proceeding 
which only flashed through his brain. To answer 
her in her own spirit was impossible. He chose 
a non-committal mean, and wrote : 

Dear Miss Willard, 

Your thanks were unnecessary. I merely put up 
my hand. It is always ready to do you a service. 

Yours truly, 

Friday. Philip May. 

Jean read it in dreary hopelessness. And the 
long autumn days went by. 


CHAPTER XI 


Two days of rain at the end of January had less- 
ened the community’s fears of the dreaded drought 
— and kept J oseph May a house-prisoner. 

“ If it clears off this afternoon, I’ll go me a little 
to the club,” he said to his son the morning of the 
third day, as the latter stood drawing on his gloves 
in the hall. 

Philip opened the door and glanced up at the 
gray, fleeing clouds. “ The wind is veering,” he 
said. “ But if it stays dry till noon you might 
bundle up and go down for a while. I suppose Mr. 
Willard will go with you.” 

“ Daniel? He goes a little to the French Club, 
but he’s got no use for any club much — he don’t 
play cards.” 

Dr. May’s eyes, traveling over his horses’ sleek 
backs, smiled innumerable things. “ Well,” he said, 
briskly, and ran down the steps to his carriage. 

J oseph watched till he had stooped to the small 
door which he closed upon himself, till he had 
waved to him from the window, and the horses 
199 


200 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


started off. Then, all unknown to himself, he 
smiled reassuringly over the vanishing vision and 
the memory of the quiet, capable face. 

He felt an old-time impulse of good-fellowship 
toward the world this morning. The world, after 
all, was not so merciless as he had thought — it had 
proven itself rather generous toward Philip. Gen- 
erous? Thought of Philip laughed in the word’s 
face. What did he need of its generosity? Simply 
by ignoring it and moving straight on had he not 
put his foot on its low-brought neck? Joseph 
rejoiced in the man’s complete triumph this morn- 
ing, as a god might rejoice in the strength of his 
creature’s limbs. 

He rubbed his hands together mightily, look- 
ing out of the sitting-room window. “ Yes, I think 
I’ll go me a little to the club this afternoon,” he 
decided, condescendingly. 

He had not been to his club since almost a year 
— how long was it anyhow? Since — he put the 
date and its contingent memory from him. A 
patch of blue peeped mischievously out at him 
from the gray sky like a child’s eye at peep-bo. He 
shook his finger at it, and then laughed over his 
own nonsense. 

Jean came down the steps of the house next 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 201 


door and, seeing him, threw him a kiss, talking 
pantomime with him about her umbrella and the 
sky. He shrugged, and spread his palms broadly 
over his ignorance of the weather-man’s purposes, 
and as she reached the foot of the steps he threw 
her a kiss in turn. Dear chile! He had not been 
very nice to Jean, he admitted, and he could afford 
to thyow her a kiss. He was minded to open the 
window and command her to deliver the caress 
sealed. How long was it since he had kissed Jean? 
Since — but Jean had disappeared around the 
corner. 

“ She goes like the wind,” he thought, admiring 
her fleetness with proudly pursed-up lips. 

A moment later Daniel came out and shook his 
stick at him. J oseph opened the window. 

“ It smells good, the air. You think the rain is 
over, Daniel? ” he asked. 

“ The weather-man says no,” returned Daniel, 
doubtfully, buttoning his overcoat. 

“ Then sure it is over,” laughed Joseph. “His 
word is almost so good as carrying an umbrella 
when it looks like rain — it keeps it off. The poor 
weather-man, with this uberzwerich climate! Say, 
Daniel, the farmers ought to hire him to say no 


202 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


when they want it and yes when they don’t. It 
would he most so good as praying.” 

Daniel had not seen him so jovial in a year. He 
felt a glow of curiosity as to the cause. 

“Has Philip gone?” he asked, gropingly. 

“ When he is gone! Never you saw a man what 
takes so little rest. Last night he was called up at 
two o’clock. You know Steinman is so sick 
they—” 

“ Steinman? Which Steinman? ” 

“What Steinman! Why, Amhold Steinman, 
the banker. He’s got appendicitis, and the doc- 
tors called Philip quick to operate on him.” 

He spoke with careless importance. Back of 
his simple announcement lay a world of late-won 
victory; at last the influential Jews had been 
forced to acknowledge Philip’s supremacy. What 
had he, Joseph, cared for the others? It was his 
own, the people of his race, the people of a past and 
present common with his own, whose cool ignoring 
of the man had been like a nail in the father’s 
heart. 

“ Is he going to die? ” asked Daniel, with radi- 
ant inconsistency. 

“You ask me that when I tell you he’s got 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 203 


Philip for a doctor?” said the old man, softly, 
with a quietly raised eyebrow and shoulder. 

Daniel laughed, putting down his foot to the 
next step. <c I don’t think I shall see you again 
to-day,” he reflected. “ After I finish at the office 
it will be time for luncheon, and after luncheon 
there is a meeting of the directors of the French 
library, and to-night — ” 

“ Well, I guess I got to live without you for 
one day. Anyway, I think I’ll go me a little to the 
club.” 

“ Yes? ” cried Daniel, gladly, his curly upraised 
eyebrow shooting off his eyeglass. “ It is long — 
I hope you will have a pleasant game. Give my 
love to any of the old ones you see there. Good 
by, Joseph. You had better shut that window.” 

“ Good by, Daniel. Better you turn up your 
coat-collar.” 

The window was closed. The morning wore 
itself away, interrupted by three conversations over 
the telephone — two with Daniel, and a short col- 
loquy with his attorney, Paul Stein. After lunch- 
eon, telling Katie he would take “ a little snooze,” 
he lay down on the couch in the sitting-room with 
the newspaper Qver his face. 


204 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


It was half-past three, when, refreshed from his 
sleep, he walked down in the after-rain sweetness, 
and took the car for his club. 

He knew he would find several of the surviving 
“ old ones ” there. With Kantian precision, every 
afternoon at that hour old Alexander, and Houss- 
man, and Frank, and Goldschmitt, formerly joined 
now and then by Joseph May, found themselves in 
a certain corner of the spacious card-rooms and 
gave themselves up to cards and reminiscences. 
Their stories were known by every frequenter of 
the clubhouse, and they, as well as the story-tellers, 
were tenderly cherished as heirlooms by the 
younger generation. There was a jest current 
among the latter, as the survivals began dropping 
off quietly and were gathered to their respective 
corners in the more spacious Home of Peace, that, 
in the quiet of the night, they would find one 
another, and over some grassy table play their 
“ little game,” and tell their “ little stories.” 

As Joseph entered now, the graybeards shot 
questioning glances at one another, and stretched 
forth curious yet hearty hands toward him. 

“ Hello, May. Wie geht’s? What’s up? ” cried 
Alexander, pushing a chair round for him. 

“Me,” beamed May, expansively, sinking into 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 205 


a chair after disposing of his hat and cane and 
overcoat. “ Me — and the sun— and lots.” 

“You always had a good nose for lots,” said 
Frank, facetiously, his small, keen eyes searching 
the furrowed face for the tracings of his unpub- 
lished chapter. “You remember the time you 
bought sand-hills for a song where Van Ness Ave- 
nue stands now? We said you were verriicTct. And 
now you have a corner in lots!” 

“ No, only seven,” returned Joseph, lighting a 
cigar. “And one is just round the block from 
yours, Frank, in what my son calls — what you 
think he calls it? ” 

He had spoken the name of his Ineffable with 
deliberate purpose. 

“What he calls it?” asked Alexander, with a 
grin. These old inheritors of a religion without a 
hereafter could, nevertheless, enjoy a joke upon 
this, their so imminent sojourning. 

“ He calls it ‘ The Common/ ” replied Joseph. 
It was not quite what Alexander had expected; in 
truth he did not quite understand. 

“ Yes, it is the common way,” interrupted Gold- 
schmitt, who, through a misadventure in his pio- 
neering days, had learned his English more thor- 
oughly than his companions, and kept himself up 


206 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


to date. “ Too common. What will, he and the 
other swells do when they get there — hey? ” The 
comment smacked of maliciousness. 

“ They’ll be dead swells then and can’t kick/’ 
laughed Houssman, shaking over his own wit. 
“ But tell us, May, how Steinman is to-day? ” 

Then they knew! 

“ Oh, my son says there is no danger now,” said 
Joseph, with superb carelessness. “ He fixed 
him.” 

How? What? Steinman? Dr. May? There 
was agitation among the beards. 

“ What are you talking about, Houssman? ” 

Houssman looked at them with disgust. “ You 
didn’t know Banker Steinman was so sick they 
gave him up last night — till they thought of Dr. 
May? And you hear — his father says he fixed 
him.” 

A celebrity sat among them — Joseph, father of 
Philip. Every Jew kneels to the god Success — 
the old ones knelt to the reflected glory. Joseph 
was again one of them. 

Cards were dealt, the game began. Cigars were 
smoked, but Joseph wished he had been in the 
habit of singing under his breath like Frank — it 
would have been such a vent. Instead, he played 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 207 


like a magnate, throwing money away with lavish 
unconcern. It had been his wont to play as he 
had worked, earnestly, silently, and the others 
watched him now somewhat uneasily. 

“ You play like a fool, May,” protested Alexan- 
der, finally, his sense of economy exasperated. 

May laughed. “ I got a license to play like I 
want,, so long I don’t cheat,” he said. 

The word sent Houssman back to other days. 
“ You remember in the old days when you and me 
was partners down in Mississippi, and how we 
slept one whole night in the swamp because the 
sheriff found out I didn’t had no license?” he 
asked, with raised chin. 

“ Well, we were fools — afraid from our own 
shadows. Didn’t I had a license, and wasn’t you 
my partner? ” 

“ But say. May, what a night! Do you like to 
think about it now? ” 

“ It’s a wonder we didn’t die from malaria,” 
returned the doctor’s father. “You remember when 
they caught me they said I stole the horse, but 
wasn’t it the judge’s daughter what told me to 
take her horse and run, and tie it to the tree on 
the bank before I went into the swamp? You said 
she did it account the bargain she made with that 


208 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


blue-striped taffeta, but I knowed it was account 
my good looks.” 

They laughed over the old boy’s conceit, hitch- 
ing their chairs closer together, their beards com- 
mingling in a maze of teeming recollection — sons 
of toil, enjoying the fruit of their labors — toil past. 

“I could sit forever talking it over,” sighed 
Frank at last, looking at his watch. “ But, junge , 
you know what time it is? Ten minutes past six.” 

“ Gott im himmel” cried Groldschmitt, bustling 
up. “ My wife will think I was kidnapped. Come 
along, boys.” 

But Houssman had another card up his sleeve, 
and before they toddled to the door he flung it 
down before J oseph. 

“I hear your son is going to join the club. 
May,” he said, buttoning up his overcoat, while 
Joseph did the same. 

“You said?” questioned the other, the blood 
rushing thickly to his face. 

“ I see your son’s name is up for membership, 
now two weeks. They vote to-night, you know. 
Dr. Philip May. That’s him, ain’t it? ” 

“Yah,” said Joseph, a film over his eyes and 
voice. 

“ I hope he gets in,” said Houssman, tendering 
his hand. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 209 


“ I hope he gets in,” said Alexander, tendering 
his. 

“ I hope he gets in,” said Frank, with a slap on 
the shoulder. 

“ I hope he gets in,” cried Goldschmitt from 
the door. 

Joseph’s cup was full and threatened to brim 
over through his eyes. He wanted a quiet place 
in which to sing, or cry, perhaps even to pray a 
little. 

Fortunately joy does not kill. When he found 
himself alone, walking unconsciously toward home, 
his heart was beating dangerously high. So! He 
had done it quietly to surprise him! And some 
night he would say, “ Old man,” — they had grown 
intimate enough even for that endearment, he 
thought — “ old man, shall we go to the club to- 
gether? You know I am a member now.” Steal 
a march on the old man, eh, steal a march on his 
old father! 

And it was a good move — a shrewd move to get 
in with those moneyed men. Hot that he needed 
them, oh, no. But — well, he was a chip of the old 
block 

What! already at Clay Street? How had he got 
there? Verily, Joseph, by thine own peculiar little 


210 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


knock-kneed old Jew’s trot and the aid of thy fine 
gold-topped cane, and by no miracle of wings what- 
soever. At Clay Street, then, and yonder in the 
evening light the row of smug-faced houses which 
he called his — one of the finest residence corners 
in the city — and what a city! What a picture! 
What a place to live in — what a view — what a cor- 
ner for a doctor! Worth — Oh, down with the 
smug-faced houses, and behold the lordly mansion 
in the midst of billowy lawns. There, in the door- 
way, who is the girl who throws him a kiss? He 
has seen that girl before, caught such kisses before. 
Why not? — since Philip had joined the club. And 
had he not watched a certain quiet face in the 
evenings while Jean played? Ah, Philip, my son! 
And it would he, “ Good morning, Grandfather 
Joseph; did you sleep well last night?” 

And, “ Good morning — ” Alas, poor Daniel, 
never to know the joy of grandfatherhood. Well, 
well, it would he almost the same, not quite, of 
course, hut almost. 

And no doubt that old scheme of showing “ a 
fine public spirit,” which he had evidenced in that 
crazy will which Paul Stein was going to change 
in the morning — no doubt it was very grand, 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 211 


Daniel, my friend, but was it — human? Alas again, 
could Daniel put himself in a father’s place? Could 
a bachelor judge? Well, it was all right now. 

And Philip would find how much better it was 
to stand in with your own people — people who 
cared for you, just like the members of one great 
family, the big ones for the little ones, the young 
ones for the — oh, it was going to be all right, 
all right, all — 

" Well, you are late,” -cried a voice above him, 
and Joseph looked up to find himself at his own 
doorstep, Philip standing bareheaded in the door- 
way. “ I was beginning to think of sending scouts 
out to find you.” 

" No danger I get lost,” laughed Joseph, pant- 
ing up the steps, his eyes on the somewhat care- 
worn face above him. " A bad penny, you know. 
I had so good a time I forgot to come home. Was 
you waiting for me?” He stammered as a girl 
might, while putting his cane in the stand. 

"I’m hungry,” returned Philip, helping him 
out of his overcoat. " And you seem rather fagged.” 

"Me? No,” derided Joseph; "what shall I be 
tired about? Wait, I’ll go in and wash my hands 
a little before dinner.” 


212 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ You’re all right/’ commented Philip, noting 
the excited light in the old man’s eyes. “ Come in 
— Katie and her dinner are about boiling over.” 

It was an uncommonly good dinner, Joseph de- 
cided, especially as to the wing of chicken Philip 
carved for him — and Katie was a good cook and a 
good girl, and to-morrow Stein would fix her all 
right. 

“ Why not lie on the couch a while? ” suggested 
Philip, when they had repaired to the sitting-room. 

“No; I must read the paper,” said Joseph, 
plumping himself into the easy-chair at the farther 
end of the massive library table, and, setting his 
eyeglasses on his nose, he drew the evening paper 
toward him with a lazy grunt of satisfaction. “ Bet- 
ter you lay down, Philip,” he added, glancing be- 
nignly at him over his spectacles. “ I bet you didn’t 
sleep more as two hours last night.” 

“ Something like that,” assented Philip, with 
a laugh, as he seated himself at the other end and 
drew the writing materials toward him. “ I don’t 
require much sleep, you know. Read your paper 
now; I have an article to finish.” 


CHAPTER XII 


For some little while there was nothing heard 
in the room save the continuous scratch of the 
doctor’s pen and the occasional crackling of the 
newspaper as Joseph turned the page. Then, as 
was expected, awaited, longed for by one of them, 
the music stealing through the friendly dividing- 
walls. 

u J ean sings to-night,” remarked J oseph softly, 
scarcely looking up. 

His voice startled his companion. “ I have never 
heard her sing before,” he returned, without glan- 
cing up, and then cleared his throat as though it 
had been rasped by something physical. 

“ It is some of those old French songs what 
Daniel likes so much to hear,” explained Joseph, 
his luminous eyes seeking his paper again as though 
caught poaching. 

There were only two in her repertoire, but J ean 
sang verse after verse, never omitting the refrain 
of “ Lisette’s ” so proud, so sad regret for the day’s 
lost joy: 


213 


214 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ Si vous saviez, enfants, 

Quand j ’ etais jeune fill©, 

Comme j ’ etais gentille — 

Je parle de longtemps — 

Teint frais, regard qui brille, 

Sourire aux blanches dents, 

Alors, 6 mes enfants, 

Alors, 6 mes enfants, 

Grisette de quinze ans, 

Ah! que j ’etais gentille.” 

The pen snailed across the paper. Almost, one 
might say, it kept time to the throb of smiling, 
coquettish tears beneath the quaint old ballad. 
And then came “ Madame la Marquise,” beginning 
and ending with a bravura. They could hear the 
faint clapping of DanieFs hands, and immediately 
after, the sound of the sweet, sonorous voice of the 
piano. 

Philip laid down his pen — picked up a book. 
It was his hour of exquisite torture. The girl and 
her music had, in truth, become his conscience, 
seeking through his coats of vanity down to the 
hidden depths of the man, finding within him 
strange, potential heroisms, mute eloquences, mad, 
irresistible desires, which, changing with the 
changing soul of the music, made him, as in mock- 
ery, now her knight and hero, now a suppliant 
poet, now her compelling lover. Her music had 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 215 


thrown down the gates between them — had as- 
sumed a face and form — her face and form, and 
she came to meet him thus, a Child of the Book, 
with the dream of the Book in her eyes, and though 
he could not know that through his own distorted 
dream he had helped to the distorting of hers, he 
knew that now and forevermore he must read life 
and fyimself through her beautiful, denouncing 
eyes. He was still analyst enough, however, to 
know that the beauty of those eyes added fuel to 
the flame of her scorching scoring, satirist enough 
to say to himself, with grim humor, “ For punish- 
ment, thou shalt love, without hope, this scorning 
J ewish maiden whom once thou scornedst.” In a 
world of artificiality and servile flunkyism, she 
alone, through the echo of her girlish, impetuous, 
“ Egoist, coward, snob,” seemed the one real — and 
unattainable — thing to him. Translating now her 
estimate of him and his blind dream of individual- 
ism into the vernacular, he called himself “ a dam 
fool! ” and when a man arrives at that stage of 
self-realization, he may be accounted on a fair road 
to recovery. The words wrenched wide the arms 
of his love. Often if he could have stopped the 
music with a blow he would have done so — and 
regretted it the moment after. But the words sang 


216 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


on in his memory and stooped his soul in reply. 
The valuation of this firebrand of an inexperienced 
girl hung like a price-mark upon him, and the 
price was bitterly low. And still, to-night, as night 
after night, he found himself engaged in this 
dumb, unheard, futile wooing, which, as the music 
ceased, left him looking into space with blank, 
haggard eyes. 

Gradually the mists cleared and he realized that 
he was gazing at his father’s face. 

Joseph was reading, his cigar in the corner of 
his mouth. Philip’s book lay open before him, his 
hand supported his head — a trick of habit. His 
eyes were riveted upon the absorbed face opposite. 
It seemed as though for the first time he saw it — 
knew it — the leathery skin, the protruding, bony, 
wrinkled brow, the long, thick nose, the straight, 
thin lips. His gaze fell from the grizzled beard 
to the heavily veined brown hands holding the 
newspaper — sped again to the quiet face above. 
Mute testimony of a life — the handwriting on the 
wall! Between the lines his history lay revealed — 
and Philip read. Time and space slipped away, 
the struggle, the yearning, the broken pitchers re- 
mained. By a strange fantasy he seemed to see 
the figure of a man moving alone upon an endless, 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 217 


lonely road — put there, how? Back of him lay 
the years, the centuries, stretching gigantic arms 
outward, beyond the man, beyond the horizon, 
beyond all space, beyond all time. The road of 
Infinity lay between. And the man? Galley-slave 
of the Past, lugging forever the memory of a 
Chain — sport of the ages, auto-da-fes, and yellow 
patch, hate, and prejudice, and jealous venom, 
plundered, reviled, stoned, and spat upon — heir 
of all the ages — unconquerable still — yearning ever 
toward the wide peace of promise! Heart-bound, 
the threads spread out, caught at the gazer, 
clutched him close. 

“ I am his — he is mine,” said his soul. “ Amen.” 

With an effort toward actuality, he sprang to 
his feet, and looked at his watch. 

“ I must be going,” he said hurriedly, his hand 
falling upon his father’s shoulder. “I have an 
operation at St. Luke’s — and you are going to bed 
now.” 

Joseph looked up, taking off his spectacles. 
“ Yes,” he decided, slowly, shoving the glasses into 
their case. “ Perhaps I’m a little tired. What 
time is it? ” 

“ Just nine. Are you going now? ” Joseph was 
following him. 


218 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ I’ll go with you to the door. You say it is 
an important case? What is it, Philip? ” 

The doctor shrugged himself into his overcoat, 
the old man standing by the newel-post, watching 
him. Philip smiled down at him, giving him cer- 
tain details which brought a look of wisdom into 
his father’s face. 

ec Oh, it’s only an experiment,” Philip con- 
cluded, feeling in his pockets for his gloves. “ My 
old friends, the authorities in Europe, have been 
discussing its practicability for the past ten years. 
I’m only going to put some of their theories into 
practice — risking one life for many — but I have 
strong hopes. Ah, here they are.” He began draw- 
ing on his gloves, waiting for the further question 
fumbling for exit in his father’s agitated counte- 
nance. “ Well, good night.” He picked up his 
hat as a spur. 

“ Oh — hold on, Philip. You know I was to the 
club to-day.” 

“ Yes, so our late dinner proved.” 

“ And — and I heard some news — good news.” 

Philip felt his pulse give a leap of premonition, 
and then lie cold. For no definable reason but for 
dread of it, and the natural possibility of it, he 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 219 


daily awaited the announcement of Jean Willard’s 
engagement. 

“ Ah,” he said, impassively. 

“Yes. That was a good idea — waiting till I 
couldn’t go down and find out, hut you can’t hide 
it from me no more — Houssman told me your 
name is on the hoard — for membership.” 

His son turned upon him more directly, blank 
surprise written in his eyes. This suddenly passed, 
leaving a heavy frown. 

“ There is some mistake,” he said, shortly. “ I 
have never given any one such a right — never 
spoken to any one of such a desire. I know no one 
belonging to your club — intimately.” The arro- 
gant, masterful voice spoke again. 

“It is no mistake,” returned Joseph, thickly, 
uncertainly. “ Houssman said it — he saw it plain 
— and Frank — and — ” 

“Then it is the horseplay of some practical 
joker,” broke in Philip, gruffly. “ One of those 
gentlemanly means of getting even, I suppose. I — 
my dear sir — father — why should it trouble 
you?” He caught the old man by the shoulders, 
the egoist held again in leash by the look of agony 
quivering over the blanched features — conscious 


220 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


now, with all Jean Willard’s conscience, of his lack 
of consideration. 

“ Me ? ” agonized J oseph, hoarsely, lifting his 
head in pride. “Me? You think that troubles 
me? They can go to hell, the whole dam lot of 
’em, for all I care! Dam ’em, Philip, dam ’em! ” 

Philip’s hand still pressed upon the trembling 
shoulders, his calm eyes gradually cooling the 
blazing ones beneath his. 

“ It really isn’t worth speaking about,” he said, 
lightly, at last. “ But I’m glad you heard about it ; 
to-morrow morning I can set them right with a 
note. I heard Katie go out, I think. Come, let 
me see you to your room.” 

“ Nonsense. Good night, Philip ; I’m all right 
— you go to your work.” His voice dragged. He 
tried to move from the detaining hold. He seemed 
suddenly little and weak. Philip lifted him sum- 
marily and carried him upstairs. It was the work 
of but a few quick minutes to get him tucked 
between the sheets. 

For a few seconds after the front door closed 
behind him, a great stillness lay upon the house. 
Then Joseph May, huddled in his dressing-gown, 
shuffling in his slippers, made his stumbling way 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 221 


down the stairs up which the adored strong arms 
had but just carried him. 

Huddling, shuffling, groping, he reached the 
foot at last, and raised his head for breath. To- 
morrow morning! God in heaven, what was going 
to happen to-morrow morning? But the meeting 
— the meeting took place to-night — and the tele- 
phone miles away at the end of the passage. Mak- 
ing fun of them, eh? Making fun of both of them. 
" I hope he gets in,” chuckles Houssmanr "I hope 
he gets in,” grins Frank. " I — ” God, God, all of 
them laughing at him — he could hear them now — 
and surely the telephone used to be nearer the din- 
ing-room door. Ah! 

He took down the receiver; the connection 
was made. 

" Hello,” went the strange, hoarse voice over 
the wire. " Is Altschul there? ” 

"Who? I don’t understand you. 75 

" Altschul — the president — Altschul.” 

" Got a had cold, eh? Spell it.” 

" A-l-t-s-c-h— 

" Oh, Altschul. Yes. Want him? Wait a 
minute.” 

"Hello. Who is this?” 

"May. Joseph May. Is that Altschul? ” 


222 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ Yes. Whom am I talking to? ” 

“ May. Joseph May.” 

“ Oh — ah — yes. Your voice is somewhat husky, 
May. How goes it? ” 

“ I want you — I want to say there is a mistake 
about my son’s name. He never gave no one the 
right to put it up. You understand, Altschul? ” 

“ But my dear sir — ” 

“ I want you to say it’s a damned low trick — 
and I want you to take his name off. You under- 
stand, Altschul? ” 

“ But my dear sir — ” 

“I want you to say that Joseph May resigns 
from your club, now — to-night. You undertsand, 
Altschul? ” 

“ But my dear sir, you, a charter member! Non- 
sense, May, nonsense. Reconsider it. If that re- 
gretable matter of Dr. May’s name — you know 
it has been on the board for full three weeks — if 
it had come to light in time—” 

“Then — the — the meeting is over?” 

“I regret exceedingly, but — ” 

“ Then— he— is— ” 

“A little louder, May. What? I can’t under- 
stand you. You know it takes only two balls, and 
— but we shall sift this to the bottom. Say, May, 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


223 


come down and have a little game, won’t yon? It’s 
a fine night. Say, May? ” 

He received no answer. 

“ We’ve been disconnected,” murmured Alt- 
schul, turning from the telephone room with 
threatening gaze. 

It was a fine night, warm, soft, balmy, with 
overhead a cloudless, starry sky. Shortly before 
midnight, as Dr. May came out of St. Luke’s Hos- 
pital, two of his colleagues close upon his heels, 
it occurred to him that, in all his experience, he 
could recollect none finer. At the corner of Valen- 
cia Street, Dr. Otis grasped his hand for the third 
time. 

“ Young man,” he said, “I wish I had your 
career to live. Or my own over again — with just 
that added hit of power you taught us to-night.” 

Philip laughed. He felt the slight intoxication 
visible in the brilliancy of his eyes, but his voice 
was quite steady. "It saves bungling,” he said. 
“ And I believe she’s going to stand it.” 

“ Ho doubt of it. Well, sir, I envy you.” The 
distinguished old physician made as if to add some- 
thing further, turned fiery under the lamplight, 
and took off his hat, as he strode toward the car. 

Philip strolled on with the young interne, giv- 


224 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


ing him an out-of-class lesson in the joy of his 
success. At that moment he would have readily 
staked his life on the truth of the statement that 
the nearest approach to earthly happiness is the 
knowledge of perfect success. He felt his powers 
strong within him, knew that he could leap moun- 
tains of untold difficulties. 

His brain was still busy with analogous compli- 
cations as he hoarded his car, taking a seat on the 
side of the dummy where he could best enjoy his 
cigar. At the corner where transfers were given, 
two men stepped on, seating themselves close be- 
side the tall, silent figure in the corner. They 
seemed to be talking confidentially, and Philip, 
absorbed in his own thoughts, took small notice 
of them, till just within a block of his stepping-off 
place, when he was attracted by the mention of his 
father’s name. 

“ Don’t tell me. I tell you I’m sorry for Joseph 
May; and if you’d have heard his poor, shaky old 
voice over the ’phone two or three hours ago, you’d 
fully understand this feeling. I hated to have to 
tell him that the meeting had already taken place 
and that the black-balling was accomplished. How, 
the fellow who conceived the original and brilliant 
idea of using the club’s roster as a means of can- 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 225 


celing some real personal debt or of perpetuating 
his vulgar joke, is going to suffer for this. Oh, I 
know the man deserved some sort of drubbing, 
but the club isn’t a hall of justice — ” 

The tall, quiet man in the corner swung off, 
and Altschul spread himself more comfortably 
while the car spun on. Dr. May’s footsteps rang 
out sharply on the pavement as he walked toward 
his home. 

He had flung his cigar away. His face was 
inscrutable as he put his key in the latch. 

He noticed that the gas was still burning in 
the sitting-room as he had left it. Katie had not 
come home then, he supposed, with a passing sense 
of surprise, while moving toward the room to turn 
off the light. Something far down the hall near 
the telephone caught his attention. He went 
curiously toward it. He stooped over the dark, 
huddled mass — straightened himself a moment 
before looking further. 

Then he turned up his father’s face. But it 
was cold in death. 


CHAPTER XIII 


“ There are prayers — or something — said in the 
evening, aren’t there?” Philip demanded, laconi- 
cally, on the afternoon of the funeral, when he 
stood again with Daniel Willard in the May dining- 
room. Recollections of old ceremonies were press- 
ing in upon him. 

“ It is customary — yes. But to-night being Fri- 
day, there are services in the Temple — and one 
goes there.” 

“ At what hour? ” 

“ A quarter to eight during the winter.” 

“ Shall I find a seat? ” 

“Yes, yes; everybody is welcome. Besides, 
there is your father’s seat. Mine is with his. I too 
am going down to-night. Shall we go together? ” 

“ Thank you.” 

“ I am going home now. Perhaps you will lie 
down a little.” He looked imploringly into the 
stern, gray face. His own was weary and tear- 
stained, hut he did not know it. 

“ Perhaps,” returned Philip, stifling argument. 

226 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 227 


Daniel turned away. There was nothing to be 
gathered from the baffling wall of rigidity behind 
which the man had intrenched himself. Through- 
out the day of necessary publicity and ceremony, 
standing cynosure for the crowd of curiosity-seek- 
ers and gossips among the large host of the dead 
man’s time-proven friends, looking for the last 
time upon the features cowled in peace, beside the 
narrow bed in which they laid Joseph May next 
the love of his youth, the son had presented a 
blankness of aspect as unreflecting as the sheeted 
mirror in the sitting-room, symboling the vanities 
of life. 

“You are tired,” said Jean, when her uncle 
entered. She helped him out of his overcoat and 
pressed him to eat something. 

“Thank you. I have no appetite for eating.” 
He spoke in distant courtesy. 

“ Won’t you — aren’t you going to rest a while? ” 

He kept his hand upon the knob of the door, 
waiting to close it upon her. It was a house 
divided against itself. But the situation had 
become intolerable to Jean, and she suddenly 
threw her arms about his neck. 

“I’m sorry for — for what I said yesterday 
morning,” she sobbed against his shoulder. “ But 


228 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


I couldn’t stand near him at the funeral — as you 
asked me — feeling as I do — as everybody feels — 
that if it weren’t for him — directly — or indirectly 
— Uncle Joseph wouldn’t be where he is now.” 

“ At any rate,” said Daniel Willard, coldly, 
“ there is no occasion for this repetition of the re- 
mark^ is there? I do not like the sound of it.” 

She drew from him with drooping head. Some- 
thing in her heavy eyes and white face gave him an 
uneasy start. 

He put his hand out to her. “ My dear, are you 
well?” he asked, gently. 

She nodded her head in assent. 

“ Then perhaps — what was I going to say? Per- 
haps a glass of wine would taste good if you would 
bring it to me.” 

She threw him a look of gratitude and hurried 
off for the refreshment. 

But the shadow of Philip May stood between 
their usual confidences, nor would it let Daniel 
Willard take his much-needed rest. He was think- 
ing of certain bitter words spoken almost a year 
before under a beautiful February sky: 

“ And I made a new will according, Daniel. A 
fine will like you talk so much about, with Univer- 
sities, and Hospitals, and — ich weiss viel ! - — in it. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 229 


So well he can go alone and has no nse for his 
father, so well he has no nse for his father’s money. 
— I left him a dollar — that’s the law, Stein says — 
and he can make Shabos with it, or put it in a 
crepe hand on his hat — if it is still the style to 
make believe you care. But it will make me noth- 
ing out. For me — I will he silent in my grave.” 

What if the vindictive testament still existed, 
with nothing to repudiate its revengeful spirit in 
the eyes of a keen world— and the conscience of 
the disinherited? If so, then, Joseph, alas, not 
silent! 

Jean, in her incomprehensibility, begged him 
to dine with Philip May, but it was a silent meal 
which he partook with him. It was as silent a 
going forth to the place of prayer afterward. 

As they stood on the back platform of the car, 
approaching the dark pile of the Temple, Daniel 
noticed that the street was filled with hurrying 
groups of people who were lost in the shadows of 
the two great flights of steps leading to the arched 
portico. It looked as though there were going to 
be an unusual attendance. As they mounted the 
outer steps, Daniel glanced at his companion’s 
face, questioning what effect this unexpected 
crowd might have upon him in his reclusive mood. 


230 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


But, quite oblivious to this feature of the moment, 
Philip walked in after him to their seats some- 
where toward the middle of the nave. 

A subdued light from many bulbs pervaded the 
interior. At either side the richly carved chancel 
glowed the great seven-branched lamps. At the 
farther end, above the heavy ruby velvet curtains 
concealing the ark, rose the gleaming pipes of the 
organ. The swing-doors at the back opened and 
shut to a constant flow of softly moving people; 
stooped, slow-moving, long-nosed, grizzled Jews 
— those who had paved the way; portly, important, 
keen-faced Jews — those who had profited by the 
paving ; young, alert J ews of the hour — those who 
were inheriting; — here smug and self-satisfied, 
there dignified by the culture, though new, of a 
far-reaching cosmopolitanism ; — broad-bosomed, 
middle-aged Jewesses in spiritualizing griefs and 
crepe veils; graceful, piquant-faced, well-dressed 
young Jewesses, the light of the world in their 
eyes. And not one among all these diverse faces, 
not omitting the most self-approving, the most 
joyous, or the most empty-souled, but bore evidence 
of a racial potentiality which falls easily to the 
line of tragedy. But the Jews formed only a 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


231 


minor proportion of the immense gathering this 
evening. 

“ I see one of the professors of Stanford in the 
pulpit/’ murmured Daniel. “ I could not under- 
stand the crush.” 

Philip received the explanation in silence. 
There was a numbness possessing his faculties 
which gave him a sense of being put passively, 
through no desire of his own, by some resurrec- 
tionary process, back into .a long-deserted life. 

And this was the approach: music which was 
prayer, prayer which was music, soaring, sonorous, 
sublime, whether through the voice of the organ, 
the marvelous intoning of the cantor, or both 
together blending in vast, deep harmonies, which 
rose as out of the immensities of the past, reaching 
the climax in the trumpet glory of the “Shemah” 
the hope-cry and star of a People through aeons 
of misunderstanding, of exultation, and despair — 
“Hear, 0 Israel, the Lord our Gfod, the Lord is 
One” — which they, having escaped from out their 
fastnesses, shall some day change to, “ Hear, 0 
Humanity, the Lord our God, the Lord is One.” 

Presently the echoes were hushed, and soft 
words of comfort were spoken, gentle as a loving 


232 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


touch on throbbing wounds; the music trembled 
a faint whisper, and the mourners arose in their 
places, while the “ Kadesh ” — the glorification of 
Him who gives and takes in love and wisdom — 
was quietly chanted to them. 

Philip resumed his seat, mechanically, as he 
had risen, swayed by the simple, compelling serv- 
ices. But during the hour in which the professor 
of Stanford gave one of his ethically broad, yet 
bluntly sincere, lectures — this night on the state 
of the Cubans starving on the country’s borders — 
of which he, Philip, heard only the murmur, as 
of the rumble of a distant life — he seemed to be 
listening, stony, incapable of response, before a 
grave, chiding Power. That some day he might 
grasp it, bow down before it, he felt with impotent 
grimness, but to-night, though the mighty voice of 
the music had stirred him as a voice from afar, 
it upbore before him only the quiet old face of 
his father as he had seen it last in death. Stern- 
browed, tall, commanding, he had attracted many 
curious eyes when he had risen among the other 
mourners, but down to the moment when, the 
benediction said, the throng began to move slowly 
toward the exits, he had remained unconscious of 
the public among whom he sat or stood. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 233 


The rush of buzzing voices brought him back 
to his surroundings. He knew that Daniel Wil- 
lard was returning bows and salutations and that 
he himself had acknowledged several such recogni- 
tions. A tall, thin man, cutting his way through 
with extended arm, cornered them for a moment 
near the door. 

“Isn’t Jean here?” he demanded, with pleas- 
ant abruptness. 

“ No, she did not come,” murmured Daniel. 
“ Did you expect her? ” 

“Well, not by agreement — I only supposed 
so. I thought I’d use the occasion as a medium 
for lending her a book we had been speaking 
about.” 

“What brings you here, Paul? The pro- 
fessor? ” 

“ He might have, but he didn’t. No, I have 
Yahrzeit for my mother — never miss coming if I 
can help it. Hadn’t we better be moving? ” 

They found themselves in the tail of the van- 
ishing crowd. The sweet night air struck their 
faces. 

“ Have you ever noticed,” asked Paul, as they 
approached the portico, “ how, coming out here at 
night, these arches let in the stars and sky exactly 


# 234 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


as though continuing the roof-scheme of the 
Temple within? I don’t know whether it was an 
architectural design or divine accident, but it 
actually makes us carry heaven with us at least 
a moment beyond the threshold. You ride, of 
course? ” 

“ Well — what do you say, Philip? ” 

“ Isn’t the distance rather too great for you 
to—” 

“ No; and the walk will do us both good. Well, 
Paul, why not bring the book to Jean now? ” 

“ Exactly. I decided to do that when you de- 
cided to walk — if you don’t mind my company.” 

“We shall be glad of it,” said Philip, unex- 
pectedly, and they veered around. There was some- 
thing irresistibly attractive to him in the person- 
ality of this rough- visaged son of J udah. The old 
gentleman walked between, briskly, intrepidly, his 
young companions thought, but in the silent inti- 
macy of his own bones, he knew he was very tired. 

“What did you think of the lecturer’s flat- 
footed expressions of opinion, Dr. May? ” asked 
Paul, as they strode out Sutter Street, with long, 
steady strides. 

Philip started. “The lecture? I’m afraid I 
lost most of it. I was still absorbed in the echo 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 235 


of the services. But — was it Jewish?” He felt 
a sudden desire to set Paul Stein talking — for di- 
version; he liked the suspicion of reserve strength 
in his manner, the twinkle in the corner of his 
bright eye. 

" Was what Jewish? ” 

" All of it — the simple prayers with most of 
the Hebrew omitted — the superb organ music — 
the non- Jew in the pulpit.” 

" It was all Judaism — robbed of provincialisms 
and anachronisms.” The words came from Daniel 
Willard. "Why do you question it, Philip?” 

"It seemed heretical — to the ancient idea.” 

" The ancient idea is the new idea. It is long 
since you have been in a synagogue.” 

"Yes.” 

" Hot that it would have been told you there in 
so many words. But the ancient idea of which 
you speak — the Talmudic idea — was that the Law 
was never to be a sealed matter — that it was al- 
ways to remain open to the interpretation of the 
search-light of progress.” 

"In other words, we evolve,” put in Paul, 
lightly. 

" That is your word — mine is progress,” held 
the gentle Pharisee. " But perhaps it all means 


236 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


the same in the end — perhaps we all mean the 
same in the end. I hope so. Yet it seems 
to me I can hear the silent, continuous, unham- 
pered stride of the Jew, keeping step with Time. 
As though he, the freeman, were moving on 
to the brink of the Universal — the Messianic 
religion which was meant by the first and 
shall he the last — though we may then call it 
by another name. For, one by one, the superstruc- 
tures of Judaism, having fulfilled their mission of 
promulgation, will crumble away — one by one, her 
messengers, having fulfilled their time and office, 
shall lay them down to rest and pass into a tale 
that is told — while she, ever with her hand at the 
brain of Life, stands imperturbable, immortal, 
gazing down the ages. And when the great 
moment of coalition takes place, the Jew will be 
found in the van and waiting.” 

“In short,” said Paul, in the ensuing pause, 
“ we shall be to the manner born — the others will 
be the parvenus.” 

“No, Paul; I do not like the spirit of that re- 
mark,” reproved Daniel. “ Youth is always a little 
vindictive, it seems to me. The eyes of age are 
more humble — having seen. But I was not always 
old. Time was when I too thought that to be of 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 237 


the Chosen People was to he of God’s elect — his 
darling, a peculiar treasure unto Him. But time 
has taught me the mockery of any divine nepotism. 
We were elect — through Abraham — who, myth or 
man, stands forth the great intermediary, the 
mouthpiece between God who is God — and Man. 
That is all for which we were elect — all for which 
we are ‘to the manner horn.’ But since that 
moment of Revelation, most men — deny it though 
they may — believe in a Something which we have 
given them — and which we call God.” 

“ What do you mean by belief in God? ” asked 
Paul. 

“ The sense of an existent Ideality,” replied 
Daniel, quietly, “an ideality — a perfectability — 
whither the potentiality, the growth of man tends 
— and which still, as we advance, retreats like the 
horizon, beckoning us ever onward. A gray 
abstraction to some, perhaps, but which alone 
makes for and marks our religion.” 

“And, as a race, what are we?” questioned 
Philip May. 

“ Let the Christians answer that.” 

The words were Paul’s. An oppressive silence 
gigantic with Titanic powers and gruesome mem- 


238 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


ories hung like a weight upon their senses at this 
retort courteous. 

But Daniel Willard interposed. “No, Paul — 
not as a race; only — and that again only in part — 
as a social figure among the nations. As a race we 
are what our religion has made us. There is a 
something in the roots of every one of us, a some- 
thing which has got implacably mixed with our 
blood and is inseparable from it, which had made us 
what we are long before oppression came near us. 
We cannot separate ourselves from this ancient 
heredity. The Ghettoes w^re only the great store- 
houses in which this racial germ was preserved and. 
forced to exotic intensity. Our ethics are our 
birthright. And whenever a Jew fails to he proud 
of this birthright it is through cowardice, or igno- 
rance, or both. And whenever a Christian is unjust 
to a Jew, it is through cowardice, or ignorance, or 
both. But what I meant to say was, that a Jew 
can only deny himself by word of mouth.” 

“ And that generally gives him away,” added 
Paul, feeling that the old gentleman had inad- 
vertently approached delicate ground, “ and then 
all his perjury is in vain. Then — what atonement 
can he make for his folly, Mr. Willard?” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 239 


“ ‘ God is regained in a moment of repent- 
ance/ ” quoted the scholar, quietly. 

“ Hot through a death-bed repentance, I hope,” 
laughed Stein. “ That should be as theologically 
impossible as we have made death-bed bequests 
illegal. In the other world — ” 

“ What is the other world? ” demanded Daniel, 
sternly. 

“ The world of the immortal soul.” 

“ And what is this immortal soul of which you 
speak so glibly?” 

“ That which aspires — here and now, as the 
mortal is that which desires — here and now.” He 
spoke rapidly, delighting in the Socratic cross- 
questioning upon a subject for which most think- 
ing Jews are generally ready with some independ- 
ent opinion. “ According to which,” he added, 
lightly, “ in heaven, as yet — the here-and-now 
heaven — the gathering is small and select. How 
that, I grant you, is not an idea borrowed from 
the seers and prophets, who kindly left all specula- 
tion upon the future state to our own ingenuity — 
and needs ; but it agrees with my idea of a religion 
which, robbed of its wrappings, has for its standard 
of judgment only a man’s conduct — and has noth- 
ing to do with this or that bowing or kneeling 


240 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


acquaintance with dogmatic theology. No, I’ll 
wager that what the patriarchs did give us, Mr. 
Willard, was not the religious characteristic at 
all — it was rather one of economics. Why, even 
in the beginning, they found only one God neces- 
sary.” 

“ You are pleased to jest, Paul.” 

“ Ho, mon Chevalier. I only wished to relieve 
the oppressive sense of diving in waters too deep. 
I visited the Deaf and Dumb Asylum the other 
day and was sadly impressed by the deaf children 
speaking of those who can hear as ‘ the hearing 
ones/ as though they possessed a royal gift. I 
was beginning to fear I was speaking as though I 
thought my people and myself the ‘ hearing ones/ ” 

“ You are, my dear Paul. And yet, for ail 
your nonsense, I believe you to be a good Jew.” 

“A Jew surely — but a good one? — save the 
mark! I am a composite of all that I have 
known — a child of to-day as well as of yesterday — 
and, come to think of it, I’m not sure I’m not — 
under that scoring — a pretty good Christian, as 
well.” 

“Why not?” returned Daniel, quietly. 

Paul cocked his ears. Philip was diverted, 
awaiting the next move. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 241 


“ Surely you do not think that a challenge to 
me, Paul. Surely you must know that I do not 
forget that Christianity sprang from beneath the 
very heart of the stern-browed, eternal Mother — 
a beautiful, graceful youth — or, as John puts it, 
‘ Moses made the Law, but grace and truth came 
by J esus Christ/ Which, I take it, is an admission 
that, without Judaism as a basis, Christianity 
would be only a beautiful dream signifying noth- 
ing. Was not Christ a Jew — a Talmudist? Are 
not all his preachings, nay, his very phrase- 
ology, Talmudic? Only he is tenderer than the 
ironclad Law — necessarily ironclad for its time 
and surroundings. He speaks down to the masses 
always — the subtlety of Christianity lies in this 
world-tenderness. % Judaism addressed itself to 
the strength of man, Christianity to its weakness. 
Therefore Judaism was for the few, Christianity 
for the many. The outside world was pressing too 
close, its own world growing too varied for the 
reticences of Judaism. Judaism speaks to the 
reason, Christianity to the heart. Judaism con- 
trols — Christianity consoles. We all have hearts 
and emotions; we have not all brains and the 
power of standing alone. The inadequacy of Juda- 
ism lay in ignoring the heart till the reason was 


242 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


satisfied, or, rather, it sought to satisfy the heart 
through the reason. A stern religion truly — but 
it endures. Why? Why? Why? Because in the 
eternal flux and vanity of all things, forms, and 
ceremony, and dogma, God remains. God is the 
keystone of Judaism. While God stands, the Jew 
stands.” 

“ And that is all that is necessary? ” 

“ All, Philip — to the enlightened. Just as the 
‘ I am!’ of the first commandment comprises — to 
the enlightened — all of the others. ‘I am!’ — 
What? — Justice. And what is Justice? In patois 
— Love.” 

“Yes — the greatest Brotherly Love — in the 
long run,” supplemented Paul. They stood to let 
a car go hy. When they had reached the opposite 
pavement, “ And after all,” he continued, “ what 
does all the cant and quibbling amount to? To 
my understanding, just this : Christianity teaches 
one to hear life for the after-heaven’s sake, Juda- 
ism to live life for life’s sake. No setting aside 
of this wonderful perfectible or damnable physical 
being, hut that stern, far-reaching principle of 
atavism which, for the good of man, made Moses 
the first Board of Health, and which, in pointing 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 243 


out the visiting of the sins of the parents, physical 
and psychic, on the children unto the third and 
fourth generations, pronounced for that great 
religion of Humanity whither all sane minds are 
hound. And now that I have patted myself back 
to self-complacency, to revert to your antitheses, 
Mr. Willard, in what lies the inadequacy of Chris- 
tianity? ” 

“In making Jesus a God,” returned Daniel. 
“ Make Christ a God and you absolve man from 
attempting to follow in his altitudes. Leave him a 
man, and you establish the divine precept of 
example — what Man has done Man may do.” 

“ Oh, the Christ myth, as men who do their own 
thinking call Christ’s divinity, is being gently put 
away with other leading-strings and swaddling- 
thoughts,” said Paul, earnestly. “It was and is 
still a device for leading childish souls. But there 
are few children left in this era of newspaperdom, 
and Christ remains the great ethical teacher, the 
great young Radical of a hidebound theocracy, 
but still a Jew, who, having uttered his thought 
a span above the specified height, found, as Heine 
says, Golgotha. Strange that when the Christians 
are beginning to disclaim him as a God, the Jews 
are beginning to claim him as a man.” 


244 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ Showing that all light tends to a focus,” 
observed Daniel. 

“No, showing still that we are nothing if not 
clannish. I am peculiarly in sympathy with all 
his teachings, and haven’t a particle of doubt that 
I should have been of his party had I lived in his 
day. Christ’s party, mind you — not Christianity’s. 
To me, Jesus has always been the Raphael of 
religions — as Moses is the Michel Angelo — a com- 
parison which, no doubt, would sound blasphemous 
in Christian ears — but I mean it in all reverence. 
Do you understand me, Dr. May?’ r 

“ I think you are — what did you call it? — 
rather a radical Jew,” said Philip, with a half 
smile. 

“ If that means rational — perhaps. But I’m 
only one of many, especially in this feeling about 
Christ. Why, I know a little girl,” and here a 
merry, deep-seated tenderness came into his voice, 
“ who feels her kinship with him so strongly that 
she cannot bear to think of the crucifixion. " No, 
I will not look,’ she said to me once, angrily. 
‘ And if there had been any women there — I said 
women,’ she repeated, pointedly — "they would 
have died in their helplessness while that Roman 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 245 


brutishness was being perpetrated. Think, Paul, 
only thirty-three/ And when at the end of the 
nineteenth century a J ewish maiden falls to weep- 
ing over the self-willed death of Christ, for which 
and in whose divine name the most unspeakable 
crimes of a world were perpetrated against her 
ancestry without even the excuse of the youth of 
that world, I think we may be said to be begin- 
ning to see straight.” 

“ Oh, J ean always goes the full length,” mur- 
mured Daniel, recognizing the picture. “And I 
think you are inclined to follow after, Paul.” 

Paul laughed softly, and a sudden cold distaste 
for the man attacked Philip May. He resented the 
laugh, resented his right to that outspoken inflec- 
tion of tenderness. He shook hands with both of 
them when they stopped before his door. 

“ I — I shall see you to-morrow,” hesitated Paul 
Stein, — “ about your father’s will.” 

“The will? I had forgotten about that. It 
will have to be to-morrow night, then.” He spoke 
shortly. Had he been able to see in the dark, he 
might have noticed the swarthy color in Paul 
Stein’s high cheek-bones, and the troubled setting 
of Daniel Willard’s tired face. The appointment 


246 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


made, he bade them good night, letting himself 
into his own house as the other two entered the 
one next door. 

The oppression which had petrified him 
throughout the long day was disturbed — the usual 
nice balance of his nerves overthrown. He walked 
hastily from the dimly lit hall into the sitting- 
room, but out of its shadows rose the long black 
shape of that which had claimed it for two days, 
and he wheeled about, walking toward the less 
haunted dining-room. Midway he seemed to come 
upon a horror of memory, for he stopped short as 
though fearful of stepping upon something. The 
next minute, however, with a rough shake of the 
shoulders, he went forward. But the stiff order of 
the room, with its straight-backed chairs, was not 
what he sought, and retracing his steps, his brow 
drawn in deep, impatient furrows, he walked 
upstairs to his study. The room was at the back 
of the house, and he entered its wide darkness 
with a sense of passionate thankfulness for its 
quiet remoteness. His leather easy-chair was 
pushed near the open window, and he threw him- 
self into it with a hard-drawn breath of relief. 

The dread day was over. In the first moment 
after the calamity, when he could take thought 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 247 


of what had happened, he had wished, with ele- 
mental savagery, for carriage and spade that he 
might take and bury his dead in quiet and alone — 
that the carping, peering world might be forced 
aside and left unaided to make its own inferences, 
which must necessarily be beside the mark. That 
he and his father had parted in something deeper 
than reconciliation, something stronger, in its 
silent recognition of mutual need and growing 
custom, he had not the morbidity to put aside. In 
truth, he kept the knowledge beside him as he 
would have kept his father, had he had the 
power. Besides, during the eight or nine months 
following his withdrawal from all interests in the 
power called society, he had become almost a 
world, a law, and a judge unto himself — immune 
to the power's approval or condemnation. If he 
was living down the derision, he was accomplishing 
it unconcernedly, immersed as he was in his pro- 
fession. His old habit of success was his again 
in the sphere in which he had now concentrated 
all his energies and ambitions, and he had thought 
himself content to go on — although a girl next door 
held for him in the depths of her beautiful eyes 
nothing but a corroding contempt and detestation. 
And now — what? 


248 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


The echo of the two quiet-souled, thinking men 
he had just left acted like a rasp to his deliberate 
equanimity. They had met the guns of fate with 
an unquestioning “ right about face!” and come 
out calm, unscathed, self-approved from the fire. 
What were the narrow prejudices of the world to 
them? They were happy in their life, happy in 
their circle — independent. He alone — . His nos- 
trils dilated in his sneer at self. But it was not 
a cold, superior sneer — it was hot, and miserable, 
and jealous — not over the well-deserved spirit of 
peace which encompassed those two, his mental 
equals, hut because one, the younger of the two, 
had the right to meet “ a little girl ” he knew, on 
equal terms — had the right to speak of her — . He 
ground his teeth over the thought, stifling the 
groan which rose to his lips as the sound of a raised 
window drew his eyes to the wall of the other 
house just facing him. 

The white figure of Jean Willard placing a 
glass with violets upon the broad outer ledge, 
leaned for a moment against the casement, then 
she put up her hand to close the window, her head 
thrown hack and up, her eyes arrested by the young 
moon, which, drawing her out of the dark, made 
her own face a shadowy, slender moon of beauty. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 249 


All a lover’s vocabulary surged from Philip’s 
soul to his lips as she appeared thus again to him 
in his second hour of need. He sprang recklessly 
to his feet, and stood — wordless — facing her. 
Then— 

“Jean, will you not speak to me?” his voice 
crushed out, hoarsely. 

She drew back, startled by the second summons, 
crossing her wrists instinctively over her bare 
white throat, her eyes, her lips forbidding him 
utterance. 

“ Good night,” he challenged, desperately. 

For a fleeting second a bewildering, bewildered 
softness mutinied over her countenance, gone 
before he could grasp it. Then, “Good night,” she 
answered, distantly, faintly. And window and 
blind fell between them, while, on either side, two 
souls stood struggling, the girl against, the man 
in the toils of a master-spirit common to human- 
kind. 


CHAPTER XIV 


“ There will be no contest,” he said again, 
after Stein had laid before him all his rights and 
powers. 

“ But it would be mere child’s play. You owe 
it to yourself to take into account the fact that he 
intended altering it — that he called me up that 
very morning with that intention.” 

“You owe it to your father,” added Daniel 
Willard, in a low voice. 

Philip met his gaze intently. “ I owe it to my 
father to have the will probated exactly as it 
stands, without comment or contest. So far as 1 
can judge, it is a very excellent and just will.” 

“ Except to yourself,” interposed Stein. 

“ How so? ” 

“ It is virtually an affirmation of disinherit- 
ance.” 

“ You misinterpret. The document merely 
indorses a tacit mutual understanding. I have 
been independent of my father’s pecuniary assist- 
250 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 251 


ance for many years, and he did me the honor to 
consider me capable of always standing alone. 
That is all. We were the best of friends.” 

“ So I interpret — interpreted — when drawing it 
up, hut—” 

“ It is the only interpretation. To contest the 
will would he to assume the contrary, which would 
he preposterous. He has made me, you must also 
remember, his executor along with Mr. Willard.” 

Both pairs of eyes were directed upon his coun- 
tenance, endeavoring to discover just what amount 
of feeling lay behind his disconcerting calm, Paul 
looking for a trace of justifiable disappointment, 
Daniel for a glance of bitterness to show he under- 
stood. But the unperturbed business-like coolness 
of his whole head and figure afforded them no food 
for speculation. 

“ I shall enter upon my duties as executor with 
the most interested co-operation, Mr. Willard,” he 
added, leaning back as with the intention of pro- 
longing the interview. “ Especially the hospital 
endowment. I have acquired some knowledge of 
the subject in my varied experiences, and it may 
enable me to ride one or two of the hobbies of 
which my father often heard me speak. But as to 
the scholarships — now that, I suppose, was an idea 


252 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


upon which you and he must have had some con- 
versation.” 

“ It was a theory of mine — I often spoke about 
it to him — yes,” admitted Daniel. 

“Then with Mr. Stein’s advice, after he has 
probated the will and adjusted the several legacies, 
we’ll know ‘ where we’re at,’ and proceed accord- 
ingly. Both the hospital suggested and the other 
are to be self-supporting and non-sectarian as — the 
sky — I believe?” 

He bent his eyes in pleasant questioning upon 
his father’s friend. He turned the painful occa- 
sion into an interesting business proposition. 

Finally, with his knowledge of life, his thor- 
ough training, his wide outlook, his calm grasp of 
the struggling whole, he laid before them the 
result of his experiences and observations, Paul 
Stein, with the frank, unstinted praise of absorbed 
attention, leading him on with quick, intelligent 
eyes and questions. If, thought Paul, one could 
separate the strength of a man from his vanities, 
what a prize were here in the perfectly developed 
intellect thus disclosed — what education of the 
faculties, what culture of expression, carrying 
him, Stein, bodily and mentally, into the atmos- 
phere where his own true self glowed and expanded 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 253 


in its just element. He remembered telling Jean 
Willard long before, that he awaited Dr. May’s 
coming as one awaits the appearance of an 
author’s chef d’oeuvre, and how she had twitted 
him afterward with his easy change of opinion. 
But to-night, after emerging from the charm of 
his individuality, he found it in his heart to con- 
done much, to acknowledge that an “all-round” 
gifted man, such as he undoubtedly was, had 
some excuse for seeking a circle other than that 
which he had accepted as representative of all 
J ewry. 

When Philip returned to the sitting-room 
after seeing the attorney out, he found Daniel 
Willard standing hat in hand. 

“ It has been a very interesting evening to me,” 
the old gentleman began, hurriedly, with flushed 
cheek and appealing eye. “But my — my dear 
Philip”; his voice quavered, his hand went out 
imploringly. 

Philip pressed it, waiting courteously. 

“Ah!” Daniel exclaimed, with an effort of 
despair. “It is all my fault. If I had not 
spoken of these — these theories— which had no 
personal bearing upon him — none, I assure you, 
Philip — he might have hesitated over the distri- 


254 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


bution — it might never have been written. As 
it was, the idea — my idea — lay ready at his hand 
at the fatal moment.” 

“ What fatal moment? ” Philip spoke in gen- 
tle sincerity. 

“ But no, Philip,” murmured Daniel in stifled 
determination, drawing his hand away, “but no. 
Let there be no more feigning between us. Surely, 
surely, you noticed the date upon which the will 
was drawn? ” 

“ Certainly. February 28th of last year — the 
day after my return. What then? ” 

“ Ah, you will lock yourself away from every 
one. Can you not come out a moment for me? ” 

“ I think,” said Philip, in a low voice, “ that 1 
have made it quite clear that I thoroughly approve 
of my father’s will and shall lend my best efforts 
toward the execution of it. I am glad he has 
remembered you as he has. What more is to be 
said at present? ” 

Daniel turned from him with a sigh. 

“ Oh — one moment, Mr. Willard,” called the 
detaining voice. “ About this house. I hope to 
leave it almost immediately. I suppose arrange- 
ments can be made as to Katie’s legacy without 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 255 


delay — I can arrange with her — and the furni- 
ture—” 

“You have no desire to stay on?” 

“No. I shall take chambers in the building 
where I have my office.” He stood by the table, 
idly rasping the leaves of a book. To Daniel it 
seemed like the sawing into the last cord binding 
him to the strongest tie of his being. 

“ Me — I can have nothing to object,” he said, 
a trifle uncertainly, with great dignity of mien. 
“ There is Paul, your attorney, to consult. We — I 
shall miss you.” 

“ You will always be my most welcome guest,” 
returned Philip, somewhat dully. 

Daniel’s eyes were traveling over the familiar 
furniture as if in farewell. Suddenly he made an 
excited movement toward the heavy old writing- 
desk in the corner. 

“ Of — of what are we all thinking?” he stam- 
mered, incoherently. “ There — there — he often 
made business memoranda for me. Will you per- 
mit me, Philip — will you permit me to search the 
desk? ” 

“ Anything you wish, Mr. Willard.” He 
walked across the room and opened the desk for 
him, only partly understanding the old gentle- 


256 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


man’s disturbance. Daniel sat down, pulling out 
an inner drawer. Philip turned away. 

He sat down at the table, and, gradually, even 
the sound of rustling paper was lost to him. He 
felt cut adrift from his surroundings, like a man 
ready and waiting to travel forth upon a lonely 
journey. Resentment or self-pity held no part 
in his mental attitude. He felt himself utterly 
devoid of the power of any sentiment for or against 
anybody. People — Daniel Willard, his niece 
Jean, as he remembered her with her last verdict 
of “patricide” written mercilessly in her accusing 
eyes — were as so many separated entities who 
could have no possible concern in the cold scheme 
of life which lay just before him. 

A heavy hand upon his shoulder caused him 
to look up into the pallid joy of Daniel Willard’s 
face. 

“ I have found something — I knew I would,” 
said Daniel, agitatedly, laying a slip of fluttering 
paper upon the table before Philip, but keeping 
tight hold of it and of the shoulder upon which he 
leaned. “ It is only the fragment of a letter writ- 
ten to me when I was away last summer, but never 
sent. It is not much. We cannot convince the 
outside world with it — but for you — read it.” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 257 


It was almost illegible. It lay looking up at 
him in helpless exposure, and he deciphered it 
slowly. 

My Dear Daniel, 

Sometimes it is good when a frend goes away so you 
can rite him what you cannot say — Daniel I thout to 
myself that day when she died never I could laugh 
agen, but now when I look at my son my belovid only 
chile, Gott knows I am proud and happy — Daniel tell 
Jean he saved the life of a poor girl last night what 
evrybody said was going to die — tell Jean never was a 
son better to his father as my Philip to me — tell Jean 

The soft breathing of the gas overhead was 
distinctly heard in the wide stillness. 

“ I am looking at it too/’ came Daniel Willard’s 
voice in strange quietude. “ It is very bad spell- 
ing.” 

The face beneath gave no sign of hearing. 

“ And bad writing,” continued the gentle 
voice. “ I can just make it out — even the good, 
loving heart.” 

The fine hand beside his made as if to cover 
the paper. Daniel’s fingers closed vise-like over 
the hand. 

“What! Ashamed still? See, Philip, let us 
examine it together and let it speak for itself and 
for him. He cannot speak for himself — he never 
could. He had no eloquence — and very poor 


258 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


English. He was just what the elect call ‘ a little 
old Jew’ — ‘ Jew-man,’ as lips that call themselves 
refined sometimes put it. I will paraphrase that 
epithet for you: Often, his voice in speaking 
dropped into sing-song, his speech into jargon. 
Sometimes he used his hands for punctuation- 
marks — they were the only marks of expression 
he knew; and — God have mercy on his memory! 
— I have known him, in moments of reversion, to 
mistake his knife for a fork. He who ran could 
read his faults; they were written so plain on top. 
But just with a short pause, the runner could have 
read that Joseph May never drank his manhood 
away; he never betrayed a friend; he never 
wronged another man’s wife; he never slandered a 
good name; he never lied himself into fortune or 
favor. Yet his life was not all a negation, seeing 
his hand was always glad to follow the promptings 
of his good heart. His soul was as faultless as this 
perfect, well-kept hand of yours over which mine 
rests. All his life he lived true, but he wrote and 
spoke in a way to make the angels of culture weep. 
Now weigh him.” 

The gas breathed on monotonously. 

“ It is more bitter than death for me to have 
to speak in this way to you,” went on the low 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 259 


voice in strong intensity, “ but he was my friend — 
and I am old, and you are young, and so you will 
listen to me. For when a son comes to measure 
his father, he must bring with him something 
greater than the pretty, petty scale of a conven- 
tional estheticism. The cry of blood is such a 
far, wistful cry, Philip. It ties us heart to heart — 
it understands so much. If we had not that to 
rely on, how many of us would be alone, lonely 
with an awful soul-loneliness, within this hurry- 
ing, misjudging world. There is a verse which I 
have read which always occurs to me as something 
very beautiful — always it seems to me it should be 
set to the most beautiful music the world can pro- 
duce. It is that scene in which Bathsheba comes 
with a petition to her son, the great and wise 
King Solomon, clad then in the purple of his 
worldly glory. The Book says : * And the king 

rose up to meet her, and bowed himself unto her, 
and sat down on his throne, and caused a seat to be 
set for the king’s mother; and she sat on his right 
hand * — ah, forgive me.” 

A woman might have been speaking to him for 
gentleness. Philip raised his eyes, bitter and 
glooming from his still white face. He cleared 
his throat. 


260 HEIES OF YESTEEDAY 


“ Thank you,” he said, hoarsely, and stood up. 

Daniel turned for his hat. “ You will present 
this — justification — to Paul Stein to-morrow? ” he 
asked, his finger on the paper. 

Philip’s face set like steel. “Nonsense,” he 
said, lightly. “ There is no justification neces- 
sary to any one.” He put his hand over the paper 
with an excluding gesture of possession. 

Daniel moved aside. 

“ And — you are still determined to leave this 
house?” he asked. 

“ Quite. To-morrow possibly.” 

“ Well, good night, Philip.” 

“ Good night, Mr. Willard.” 

He accompanied him to the porch-door. He 
stood listening to his footsteps long after they had 
died away. 


CHAPTER XY 


But whatever Philip May, or any other, was 
battling with in silence of heart, was presently 
lost, swallowed up, in the shock which shook the 
whole nation to its foundations, when, on a night 
of February, two hundred and fifty American 
seamen were hurled, without herald, out of a 
friendly port into the port of the silent Unknown. 

The calamity brought the nation as one man to 
its feet. A great shout for revenge reverberated 
from ocean to ocean; and while the conservatives 
frantically begged the yelling mob to keep still — 
for God’s sake — others as frantically shrieked to 
them to keep on — for man’s — for humanity’s sake, 
in the shape of Spanish-starved Cubans. A strong 
people felt its great, untried sinews swelling, the 
young giant felt its unmatched muscles straining 
and pulling, and spoiling for a fight. “ Manifest 
destiny” was at work with its hideous means — life 
went between a hurrah and a sob — there was no 
longer any individual life — it was all national. 

And amid the passing of ultimatums and reso*« 
261 


262 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


lutions of Congress demanding the immediate 
evacuation of Cuba by the inimical Spanish, and 
the haughty responses of the proud Dons to the 
“Yankee pigs,” the latter, with characteristic 
directness, sent their troops marching to the front. 
On a gray afternoon in April the gallant First 
Regiment, to the patter of roses, and clanging of 
bells, and booming and whistling, and cheering 
and bugling, and waving of banners, marched out 
and away from the soldiers’ paradise, the Presidio 
of San Francisco. But the ranks were soon filled 
in to overflowing by the call for volunteers, Cali- 
fornia answering mightily with ten times her 
quota — men, incapacitated by years, or physical 
inadequacies, or family obligations, weeping with 
disappointment because their country refused to 
accept their mortgaged lives. During those days 
women’s lips took on that close-pressed look 
which comes to them in time of war, despite the 
brave cheer of their words. 

Suddenly the tension broke. On the 1st of 
May occurred — Dewey! And any little shaver, 
from ocean to ocean, could tell you, with the pride 
of a veteran, the story of that famous little ante- 
breakfast sail of the Asiatic squadron into the 
beautiful bay of Manila where Commodore George 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 263 


Dewey so gallantly and gracefully led the gallant 
Dons their piteous dance to death, wiping, within 
seven hours, the entire Spanish fleet off the face 
of the Pacific Ocean. 

All hearts turned breathlessly westward 
toward the island spoil of war. The rendezvousing 
at San Francisco of the troops destined for the 
Manila expedition went picturesquely on, the 
great military camps at the Presidio and Bay Dis- 
trict track grew into white-tented cities, the 
streets were alive with blue-coats and fluttering 
flags. Down at the ferries the women were 
receiving the incoming soldiers with luncheons 
and roses. Everywhere, singly and in bands, 
women were cutting and sewing abdominal band- 
ages and comfort-bags — and love knows what! — 
for some — any — dear life. Out at the camps they 
fluttered to and fro bearing hampers of eatables — 
and uneatables — and shoes and underclothing, for 
the boys of varied and, ofttimes, piteous fortunes. 
There was not a moment left in Jean Willard’s 
life in those memorable days to justify any regret 
or self-despair — she had found, for the time being, 
an absorbing interest beyond self, and she gave 
herself to it with fanatic zeal. 

And her face began to wear the white, spiritual 


264 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


light of a devotee. And Daniel Willard, looking 
at her, felt his heart contract with anxiety. 

“ You will wear yourself out with those boys,” 
he ventured to expostulate. 

“ It’s all in a good cause,” she laughed, gather- 
ing up a heap of magazines, and dropping them 
into a box ready for delivery at camp. 

“ Yes — but you are robbing — ” 

“ Daniel to pay Paul? I know, dear, but it is 
only for a little while, you know. And, speaking 
of Paul — our tin-soldier. Sergeant Stein, I mean — 
I promised to bring him something good to eat 
this evening. Will you go with me to the Pre- 
sidio after dinner? ” 

“ Certainly — since you have promised. But it 
seems to me a little rest — ” 

“ Rest! ” echoed the girl blithely, stretching her 
arms high in air. “ Why, Fve been resting all 
my life. Besides, Pm perfectly happy doing these 
things. No rest — to be happy, uncle mine.” 

The fleeting, haunted look in the eyes above the 
laughing mouth robbed his own of light. 

They left the car at Lombard Street, walking 
westward out the broad boulevard, under the 
sweet, still peace of the early evening sky. A 
bugle floated out from the distant trees of the 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 265 


Reservation, rousing the sleeping echoes. A cav- 
alryman, trotting by on his black charger, turned 
to look again at the fleetly moving, pale-faced girl 
with the wondrous uplifted eyes. For to Jean 
the beauty of the evening, the environment, the 
call of the bugle, were full of an unspeakable, 
exquisite harmony. 

They entered the Reservation gates, moving 
with the crowd of visiting sightseers through the 
white-tented, sentry-guarded camp streets, till 
they found their guardsman, Sergeant Stein, 
standing in his blue army-coat outside his tent- 
door. He took, with exaggerated thanks, the box 
of dainties he had jestingly demanded, and 
strolled about with them searching out their young 
Jewish and other acquaintances among the volun- 
teers. Lights began to gleam opalescently 
through tentings, the sentries continued their 
monotonous pacing in the sands among the curious 
throng. 

A superior officer accosted Paul Stein and, with 
a military salute, he bade his friends good night, 
while they continued on to the car terminus at the 
foot of the grounds. They stood still on the eleva- 
tion among a group of soldiers, and faced the 
strangely impressive scene before them — the 


266 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


ghostly illuminated tents stretching north, east, 
and west to the firs and pines shadowing the long 
foot-bridge leading ) barrackward — thousands of 
strong, soldierly men looming up darkly, big with 
destiny, against the serene sky flushed now with 
the last rose-streaks of a lingering sunset; beyond 
the waters rose the eternal, watching hills. 

Two tall, bearded civilians sprang from an 
approaching car, stood a moment in consultation, 
and passed perforce before them. The nearer one 
bent a quick, recognizing regard upon them, and 
hats were raised in salutation. 

"Ah, Philip,” murmured Daniel, noting the 
glance pausing for a second time over his niece’s 
face as they passed hurriedly on. 

" That was the Governor with him,” he 
remarked. "I hear they are on very friendly 
terms.” 

He received no answer. 

He turned to look at her. " My dear,” he said, 
with startled tenderness, “ let us go home at once.” 

"We were going to wait for ‘taps,’” she 
reminded him in surprise. 

"Yes. But I think I have changed my mind. 
Let us take this car.” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 267 


The next day he presented himself at Dr. May’s 
office. 

“You are surprised to see me,” he suggested, 
when he was admitted, and the doctor motioned 
him to he seated. 

“ Yes — but very glad,” returned Philip, seating 
himself opposite his visitor. 

“ Of course you cannot know. Yet last night 
— at the Presidio — I believe I was not mistaken — 
it occurred to me afterward that you had regarded 
strangely, had noticed — ” 

“ Your niece? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ She is not well — is that what you have come 
to say?” He spoke hurriedly, peremptorily. 

“ But you are mistaken,” faltered Daniel, put- 
ting up a trembling hand. “ That is the strange- 
ness of it — she is very well. But you noticed how 
she looks? She is fading.” 

“ She looked paler — and thinner, I thought,” 
he acquiesced, roughly. “Does she complain?” 

“ Ho, she laughs. All day she is occupied from 
morning till night with Red Cross w'ork and look- 
ing after those friendless soldiers at the hospital. 
She gives herself no rest.” 

“ Her music? ” 


268 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


“ She plays patriotic airs. She does not sing.” 

Philip smiled with bitter intuition. “ There is 
— some one in the army, perhaps,” he began. 

“Oh, no, no,” interrupted Daniel, positively. 
“ There is no one, but — ” He stopped, struck 
abruptly with a possible idea. 

Philip laughed shortly, as though he had been 
answered. “ Take her away,” he said, coldly. 
“ She is too intense. That sort of strain would 
break down the calmest.” 

“ Where shall I take her? ” 

“ Oh, ‘ any old place/ as the soldiers in camp 
say, only don’t keep her here.” The even edge of 
his handsome teeth gleamed in a smile. 

“ You advise it — seriously? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ But she will not go. She will laugh at me and 
say she is quite well.” 

“Use a subterfuge. Say your physician has 
ordered — the mountains — for your health.” 

Daniel flushed. After a pause, “ You seem to 
understand her,” he murmured. 

“ Yes,” Philip smiled. 


CHAPTER XVI 


Jean toiled up Laura Brookman’s broad stair- 
way. She stood for a moment at the top, uncer- 
tain in which direction to go, when the sound of a 
child’s voice reached her and she went toward it, 
pushing open the door of the children’s bedroom. 

“ May I come in? ” she asked from the thresh- 
old. 

“ Why, it’s J ean,” cried Mrs. Brookman, drop- 
ping the brush with which she was curling her 
little daughter’s hair, and going quickly to meet 
the girl. “ Draw up a comfortable chair for Jean, 
Elsie. Tired, dear?” 

“ Tired? Me? Yes, I believe I am — I can’t 
imagine why,” echoed J ean, opening her eyes wide, 
and sinking into the low rocking-chair Elsie 
dragged toward her. “But one would think I 
were ill or dying by the way you look at me. 
You’re getting me mixed up with Uncle Daniel, 
aren’t you? He is the one on whose account we 
are going away — that dreadful insomnia, you know. 
Ho, don’t unbutton my jacket, Elsie; I’ve only 
269 


270 HEIES OF YESTERDAY 


dropped in for a minute to say good by. We are 
going to-morrow morning at eight and — oh, Elsie, 
why are you having your hair curled, and what 
may the gorgeous array on the bed portend? ” 
She leaned back, pale, but animatedly interested. 

“ Mrs. Baker is giving a tea this afternoon for 
the benefit of the Red Cross Society/’ explained 
Elsie’s mother, resuming her task, “ and Elsie has 
been asked to sing. Where have you been, Jean? 
Doing a lot of walking? ” 

“ Oh, no. I’ve just made a few good-by calls — 
I wanted to see some of the soldier boys’ mothers 
before I leave. I heard that Mrs. Levison has 
grown so downcast, now that the troops are about 
to go. You can’t draw a smile from her, although 
the girls are doing their best to cheer her with 
patriotic orations. ‘ Talk away,’ she snapped, 
grimly, this afternoon. ‘ For me, I’d rather have 
a live coward every day than a dead hero any 
day.’ But we finally got her to admit she didn’t 
mean exactly that, although, through her tears, 
we couldn’t just make out what she did mean. 
Out at Mrs. Arnstein’s, who has been a brave Spar- 
tan mother all along, they told me how she began 
to cry last night during dinner when the dessert 
was brought on, because Ben couldn’t have any — 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 271 


and it was his favorite pudding! Think of it, 
Elsie! Isn’t that shocking?” 

“ I wouldn’t cry about an old pudding,” 
answered the child, contemptuously, her cheeks 
and eyes glowing. 

“You and Jean would make good drummer- 
hoys,” said Laura Brookman, letting a heavy silky 
spiral droop to her daughter’s waist. “ And all 
this patriotism in the abstract. Miss Willard, is 
very high and brave, and unselfish, hut I doubt if 
you would sing the same song if some one dearer 
to you than — ” 

“ You don’t believe that, Laura,” returned 
Jean, gently. “You know if I had any one very 
close to me, which I haven’t, who could, and didn’t 
want to, join the army, I’d be ashamed to claim 
him as my own.” 

“ Nonsense. You have sung that song to the 
echoes,” said Laura, harshly. “I should think 
the responsibility would make an eloquent girl 
like you hesitate once in a while from expressing 
herself so carelessly. You have influenced quite 
enough young recruits.” 

Her eyes flashed for a moment upon her friend. 

The girl put her hands to her temples. “ Do 
you know, I really think I have a headache,” she 


272 HEIRS OE YESTERDAY 
# 

said, surprisedly. “ Or was it your horrid words, 
Laura, that sent such a throb — dear me; how 
everything swings! There, it’s gone. What do 
you think happened to me last night? I almost 
fainted whenT was saying good by to Paul, and 
if that — why, Elsie, sweetheart, what is the 
matter? ” 

“ Mamma pulled my hair/’ sobbed the little 
one, putting her head down on her knees. 

Mrs. Brookman had the little face against hers 
in a minute. “Hush,” she whispered, impera- 
tively. “ As though mamma wouldn’t rather hurt 
herself than you.” 

A rush of miserable understanding thrilled 
through Jean. “ Don’t be a cry-baby, Elsie,” she 
said, coming to the rescue, “ and I’ll tell you what 
Charlie Taylor did night before last to help his 
country. You know Charlie Taylor, the boy who 
lives across the street from me? Well, his brother, 
Lieutenant Taylor, has gone to the front, and 
Charlie promised to look after the ladies for him 
while he is at the war — a real squire of dames is he, 
like those they used to have years ago, you know. 
How, Lieutenant Taylor has a young wife who isn’t 
very well, and she is living with her mother away 
out on Scott Street, and the last command the 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 273 


lieutenant gave Charlie was that his wife, Edith, 
was not to be frightened about him. Well, night 
before last, one of those fake-extra newsboys began 
suddenly to make night hideous with his war-cry, 
and just as I ran to the door to hear what he was 
saying, there was a sudden silence, and a moment 
later Charlie Taylor, hatless, with golden hair 
flying in the breeze, appeared around the comer 
like a beautiful young St. Michael. ‘ Why, Charlie/ 
I called, ‘what have you in your arms?* ‘All 
that fellow’s extras/ he shouted back. ‘ I bought 
’em. Now he can’t frighten Edith.’ So he’s my 
Captain Charlie.” 

The child forgot her tears, listening to the 
bright, enthusiastic voice, and Laura Brookman 
regained her composure. But the girl sprang rest- 
lessly to her feet. “ I must go,” she said, looking 
at her watch. “Don’t forget you are to be my 
squire at the Boys’ Club, Laura, while I’m gone, 
and don’t forget my soldier boys. Oh, how I hate 
to go away — now.” 

She kissed them good by, and was soon out in 
the sunshiny, windy street, where every house was 
bright with flags. Now and then a soldier passed, 
Jean nodding to each in the camaraderie born of 


274 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


the hour, which was never misunderstood or 
abused. A rag-tag regiment of tots was having a 
council of war in a sand-lot, as to whether it 
should be a land or naval battle that day; two 
solemn-looking youngsters in infantry-striped 
overalls were bearing a wounded comrade off the 
field of battle. The starry-eyed girl passed along 
among this toy war, her thoughts wistful and far 
away from it all. Two schoolgirls, holding hands, 
came by, softly singing “ Tenting To-night.” She 
had passed these same singing schoolgirls before, 
and now she smiled absently into their eyes, while 
almost running into a tall, lanky blue-coat at the 
corner. 

“ Why, Paul!” She held his hand while he 
lifted his gray campaign hat. “ Once again, for 
luck.” 

“ I hope so. Where are you bound for? ” 

“ Just around the corner, home. And you’ll 
come and dine with us.” 

“Hot to-night. But I’ll walk down to the 
house with you.” They strolled along together. 

“How many subscriptions did you get up to- 
day?” he asked, looking fondly down into her 
deeply shadowed eyes. “ How many more J ewish 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 275 


volunteers did you count — how many hungry souls 
did you feed and how many soleless souls did you 
console? How many romantic hearts did you — ” 

" Silly fellow, keep still. I haven’t accom- 
plished a thing to-day. Oh, yes, I attended a 
meeting this morning — and thereby hangs a tale.” 
She laughed a short, embittered laugh. 

“ Well? ” 

"Well, a vote of thanks was offered to all the 
ladies who had given assistance to the soldiers, 
especially for the splendid patriotism shown by 
the Jewish and colored ladies.” Her eyes flashed 
in her pale face. 

Paul smiled. "Evidently you don’t like fine 
distinctions,” he mused, amusedly. 

" They’re not fine — under that,” she said, 
swiftly, nodding toward a flag which fluttered out 
in the breeze. 

"But it was meant most kindly. Jean, Jean, 
don’t be forever butting your head against a stone 
wall. It’s no use. The long and short of it is — 
well, there’s that,” he indicated the flying colors, 
"and here we are — answering; with no spread- 
eagleism, only in common decency, wiping out, 
perhaps, an old-time unjust accusation — with our 


276 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


lives. On the battlefield all blood flows red.” He 
took both her hands in his, having reached her 
doorstep. 

“ I won’t tell yon to he brave, Paul,” she said, 
looking into his strong, kind eyes. “ But oh, my 
dear, take care of yourself.” 

He threw back his head, laughing aloud. 
“ That reminds me of a popular song we sang long 
before your day: 

“ ‘ Mother, may I go out to swim? 

Yes, my dearest daughter; 

Hang your clothes on the hickory limb, 

But don’t go near the water.’ 

Which is all very loving and foolish, and there- 
fore human. Well, friend o’ mine, once again, 
good by. Be good to yourself — and to all our 
own.” His hands gripped hers tensely. 

“ I will, Paul,” she responded, truly. “ Now 
I’ll stand here and watch you to the corner.” 

“ That’s like you,” he returned, gayly, swinging 
off. But the next minute he was back again. 

“ It seems as though I couldn’t leave you,” he 
laughed, hurriedly. “ But it just occurred to me 
that some news I heard at camp might lessen your 
solicitude for yours truly. Colonel Smith told me 
this morning that our eminent friend, your quon- 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 277 


dam neighbor, Dr. May, has offered his services, 
been appointed, through his friend, the Governor, 
an acting assistant surgeon, and sails with us on 
Wednesday for Manila — so — . What, Jean, you’re 
not going to faint again! ” He put out a startled 
hand. 

" I never do more than make a feint at it,” she 
reassured him, smiling through her pallor. "It 
must be the sun in my eyes. Yes, you’ll be in 
skillful hands.” 

"Ho doubt of it. Well — so long! ” 

At the corner he turned. The great flag on the 
staff fluttered out in the stiff breeze toward him. 
The westering sun illumined him as he raised hi3 
hat high. It was thus that J ean ever after remem- 
bered him. 

"I am not going in,” she thought, dazedly. 
"But what was I going to do? Oh, it doesn’t 
matter — I’ll just walk down the street — perhaps 
I’ll meet uncle.” 

She strolled away. 


CHAPTER XYII 


But she turned down the first side street, dully 
conscious that she did not wish to meet her uncle, 
or any one — that, for a little space, all she desired 
was to be quite alone, that she might have time to 
forget the dread vision Paul Stein’s words had 
brought to her — the vision of a lonely form, of a 
bearded face, dead and upturned to a cold, white 
moonlight. 

For several minutes, long as infinity, her dark- 
ened senses could hold nothing else, and it only 
faded when the gripping, never wholly absent 
memory of Philip May’s voice, calling her as out 
of the whole world, resumed its despotic sway. 
Over and again she had striven to banish from 
her life the memory of its passionate longing, 
though, at the same moment, came the recollection 
of how she had responded to it. It confounded 
reason. Had he had no provocation? Were not 
existing circumstances extenuating? What right 
had the Past to him — the Past with its — 

Fifth commandment! 

378 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 279 


She raised her head as to a living voice — 
answered by the rebuke of Life. The flash of 
eternal truth smote her relentlessly. Fifth com- 
mandment — the far-seeing care of the man-of-God 
for the old! Heavy tears welled to her eyes at 
thought of the yearning old father, Joseph May, 
lying silent with his stilled griefs. The tie of 
blood — so Titan-strong in the Jew — was that the 
Middle Pillar upon which the House stood? She 
tried to beat back the swarming, lashing thoughts. 
And yet — and yet, came the passionate rebuttal, 
this sentimental care, this forever turning of the 
eyes backward for fear of treading on some out- 
worn tradition, this tyrannous claim upon free 
will — was not that the power which impeded union, 
which, first suffocating, would finally stamp out 
individuality, and hold forever in leash the dream 
of barriers down, straining at the heart of life? 

."I cannot understand it,” her tortured soul 
complained, tossed from sentiment to reason, striv- 
ing to seize life by the forelock, demanding the 
answer which is only given when life is slipping 
through the fingers. 

Alas! the answer did not lie with her. She 
recognized the futility of her struggle, and gave 
in at last. For her there remained only one com- 


280 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


prehensible cry forevermore, and she lifted her 
woman sonl to that, finding the common factor 
which reduces all to one denomination. She 
moved on, strong in surrender, prisoner to an 
unsought love for a man who was presently going 
out of her life as silently as he had entered it. 

And his going away — she did not exalt it to any 
heroism — it was only, as Paul had said, common 
decency; but the silence of it, the loneliness of it, 
these were the smiting, possessive powers of it over 
a nature and love like Jean Willard’s. She ached 
in her helpless wistfulness. If she could have 
stretched out her hand to him, have seen him only 
once, to — 

But, the test was granted, as, abruptly turning 
the corner, she came face to face with Philip 
May. 

She stood still and held out her hand, looking 
straight and truly into his stern face. 

“You were going without saying good by to 
us,” she explained, gently. “ Was it quite fair? ” 

He commanded his bewilderment. “ I thought 
so,” he said, quietly. 

She tried again. “ I — I wanted to ask you to 
take good care of some of my friends.” 

“ I shall remember. I think I know at least 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 281 


one.” His lips parted in a faint smile of under- 
standing. 

“ And of yourself,” she added, in undaunted 
misery. 

“ Thank you.” He waited for her further 
pleasure. 

She stood looking beyond. 

“I shall not forget your order,” he repeated, 
and raised his hat in leave-taking, noticing her 
uncertainty of manner. 

“ I — ” She raised her saddened eyes suddenly 
to his. The blood rushed responsively over both 
their faces. 

“ Which way are you going?” he demanded, 
on impulse. 

“ Anywhere — up this hill, I think.” 

He turned and walked with her. 

“You are very kind,” he said, with desperate 
control. 

“ Ho, no.” 

“ I could almost find it in me to speak to you. 
By heaven, I will — you have given me the 
chance! ” But the leap of hope died down the 
next minute, leaving an inevitable memory in its 
stead. 

They walked on silently for a space, as though 


282 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


weighted by the stillness of the dying day, removed 
by its pensive hold from all the world besides, they 
too alone, mounting the hilly, almost deserted 
streets. 

He spoke abruptly. “ Perhaps I misinterpret 
you,” he said. “ I don’t want you to mistake me. 
I am still the same derelict you arraigned last 
year — egoist — ” 

She turned her head swiftly. “Forget that,” 
she sharply commanded. 

“ I have not changed,” he reiterated, harshly, 
“in spite of the lesson. I still stand stolidly by 
my first principles. But this is nothing to you.” 

“It is very much to me.” She looked before 
her to the hill horizon. 

A pale intensity of purpose settled over his 
features. 

“ I hated the badge of difference,” he gave 
forth between his teeth, holding back half, 
explaining, not pleading, according to his nature. 

“ Yes.” 

“ I had a dream of fusion with — my kind.” 

Her lips set in sad understanding. 

“I considered myself neither fakir nor fool.” 

“I know. 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 283 


“ I said to myself, I am an individual, not a 
class.” 

“I understand.” 

“1 said to myself, ‘What have I to do with 
Ghettoes? * ” 

She did not answer. 

“ I felt the warm, free sun of the present burn- 
ing and quickening within me. I was strong and 
forward-looking. I decided I would not be fate’s 
social cripple linked by an invisible chain to a 
slavish past. I resolved to break the chain” 

She stood a moment before crossing the street 
and looked sadly up at him. 

“ I discovered you can never break the chain” 

The passionless words chimed fatally with the 
perfect stillness about them. They walked on 
under the weight of their finality, closer together, 
more apart from the rest of the world, for their 
stern meaning. 

He bent his set, fighting face fully toward her. 
“ I discovered there are other — closer — more bind- 
ing links riveting us to the chain. For I suc- 
ceeded in pulling at the chain — till my father 
fell.” 

She had always demanded that any wrong-doer 


284 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


be punished — she had always agonized over the 
pain of any one’s punishment. She pressed her 
quivering lips close, keeping herself doggedly 
down. 

“ That is all,” he announced. 

“Hush.” She could not bear his harsh reti- 
cence. 

“Understand me — it has not made me any 
gladder to be a Jew than I was before — even 
though I know that the thought of the unfettered 
Jew is the same as that of the unfettered Chris- 
tian, even though I have been taught that breed is 
stronger than creed — and even though I know 
that the Jew is no longer a religion apart — only a 
race apart.” 

He raised his hat a moment as though it burned 
his brow. “ I have never thanked God that I am 
different from other men,” he said, grimly, look- 
ing beyond her face for a second. Then he came 
back with a start to its pale beauty. 

“I’m not worth thinking about, or troubling 
you about,” he said, thickly. “ I had no hope of 
ever seeing you again — never of speaking to you, 
surely. This solitude with you has unmanned 
me. Forgive the intrusion if you can. You have 
been generosity itself in listening to me.” 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 285 


"I am not generous/’ she said, bitterly. "I 
am just a moral prig.” 

The gleam of a tender smile shot into his eyes. 
“You are an idealist,” he began, gently. “ All 
this apart, I could never reach the sky-line of your 
requirements, although I can look up to it as other 
men look up to their heaven.” He paused, his 
eyes lingering upon her; then he continued softly, 
“ I have heard — have seen — much argument — hut 
you — you are the only argument I know which 
makes me ready to stand by that for which you 
are the loyal — my only — torch-hearer. I have 
even thought that perhaps the ancient tyranny 
which still constrains us has endured — was only 
love-in-wisdom having you in design. Ah, you see, 
I cannot help myself — you have become my 
religion — if you are Jewish, must I not too be 
Jew?” 

He tried to smile away his loss of control. But 
his hand groped toward her, only stopping, 
through force of memory, before it touched her. 

“ Does it pain you very much to know I love 
you? ” he asked, quietly. 

The voices of evening seemed suddenly hushed, 
awaiting her answer. She raised her eyes to his. 

They walked on together over the hill. 


286 HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 


***** 

In all beautifully risen San Francisco there is 
no prettier view than where she, sitting on her 
western hills, the sun in her eyes, gazes over the 
silvery waters of the hay curving out to meet the 
Golden Gate. In all her history, never did the 
meeting waters seem more fraught with meaning, 
and power, and high emprise, than toward five 
o’clock of the afternoon of May 25, 1898. For 
hours, the crowds here on the heights, on balconies, 
on housetops, as on the lower water front, had 
stood patient, breathless, many thus keeping silent 
tryst with those whose ship they had promised to 
watch till it should sink beyond the line of 
vision. 

Just at five the signal came in the booming and 
hanging of guns, the mad shrieking of whistles, 
the clang and clamor of hells. It brought the 
heart of the city to its throat in a prolonged sob- 
bing, deafening cheer. Around the cove came the 
gay dancing flotilla, resplendent in fluttering 
bunting and flags and pennants, in the midst of 
which, black with humanity and war-paint, 
proudly breasting wind and billows, rode the 
pioneer fleet of invasion — the City of Peking in the 
lead, closely followed by the Australia and City 


HEIRS OF YESTERDAY 287 


of Sidney. It was the Peking, however, which 
carried the California First, and most of the watch- 
ing eyes grew dim following her. Past volleying 
Alcatraz sped the inspiring pageant, past Fort 
Mason and the downs, past the white city of tents 
and the Presidio sending soldierly farewell, past 
the old fort, ont through the open Gate, and so 
straight into the sunset. The sun shot down in 
a silver vapor. The vanishing ships were figures 
of mist. 

In the press of the crowd near the mansion 
which lifts its terra-cotta beauty to the blue jewel 
above, two school-girls, standing hand in hand, 
began softly singing The Battle Hymn of the 
Republic. 

An old gentleman standing near reverently 
raised his hat. The girl beside him stood gazing 
after the mist-shapes — that look of yearning in 
her face which seeing eyes call prayer. 


V 




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